


Nor Take a Widow's Garment in Pledge

by Daseyshipper



Category: When Calls the Heart (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Smut, problematic relationship, somewhat ooc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29123577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daseyshipper/pseuds/Daseyshipper
Summary: A re-imagining of Season 1. Henry and Abigail enter into an understanding, but she may find herself having to trust him in spite of their recent history.WARNING: READ THE TAGS! This is a smutty, noncon/dubcon story to start, with some problematic relationship-building. It is a work of fiction; dubcon and toxic relationships should not be condoned or celebrated in real life. I wouldn't normally yell about this so much, but WCTH is a Hallmark show and I want to be clear this is not a completely Hallmark-friendly story. Don't like, don't read.
Relationships: Henry Gowen/Abigail Stanton
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note the summary/tags/rating, etc.

Black dust was everywhere. In her eyelashes. Under her fingernails. Clinging like a paste to the back of her neck. She scrubbed herself with the washcloth, dipping it over and over again into the opaque water in the large tin basin.

They had one more day to clear the mine. The women were sore, physically exhausted after the setback at the beginning of the week. And emotionally exhausted too – from the guilt of now knowing, vividly, the difficulties their husbands had endured every single day for their families. From the hours spent questioning whether they were really ever going to be able to make do on their own. Some of them hadn’t even lasted two weeks, unable to handle yet another obstacle in their already ragged and grief-laden lives. Even if they got to keep their houses… were they all doomed to fall sooner or later?

***

She held the last rock over her head and nearly dropped to the ground with pride and relief. She may not have had a family left – no children still to raise like the others – but she had this. Her health, her body, her spirit, her strength. She could persevere. She could endure.

***

The widows lined up in the mining office the next morning, scrubbed clean and glowing with triumph. There was a frenzy about them, Cat and the others, an anxious and giddy energy as they peeked their heads around to the desk and watched the stack of contracts get whittled down. But Abigail wanted to go last. She wanted to see his face as he gave away that final, contentious, glorious piece of paper. By the time she held the contract for Lot #1 in her hand, the other women had flooded out of the office onto the street, practically running back toward their homes. She matched his strange, painted-on smirk with a smolder of self-righteousness, delaying her exit to deprive him of his peace for just a few more moments, before she turned away to join them.

But then she stopped. Half-turned in the doorway. Stared at the paper.

“Mr. Gowen…?”

“Yes?”

“This rental price. Is this correct?”

Henry Gowen stood abruptly and came around the desk, as if he were getting ready to fight. “Now if you’re accusing me of more callousness or cruelty, Mrs. Stanton, you can stop right there. Those are the same rents your families have had all year.”

Abigail shook her head in disbelief. “But the death benefits were only 55% of the annual salaries,” she said, panic beginning to show in her voice.

“And you’ll have both your husband’s and son’s benefits,” he pointed out. “I believe you now have a working roommate as well? This should not concern you.”

“But what about the other women? With other expenses added in, they’ll only last another 4 months at the most while trying to find work.”

Henry shrugged. Abigail’s eyes flashed in a rage, but Henry only sighed, speaking as though to a child.

“Mrs. Stanton, while we all regret the circumstances that led to this, the obligations of Pacific Northwest in assisting the widows of deceased employees end at paying out their rightful death pensions. We’ve already allowed a stay on the rent for three months and been extremely generous in giving you these contracts.”

“We _earned_ these contracts!” she shouted.

“And you earned the conditions that come with them as well.” His voice was level but biting. “If you were under some delusion, Mrs. Stanton, that dedicated full-time employees would need to pay the proper rent, while non-employees would be exempt from doing so because they performed two weeks of work, that misunderstanding can hardly be laid at my feet.”

She was seething even as she felt foolish. She’d been so eager to rally the widows together to keep their houses, and they’d been so exhausted trying, that they hadn’t truly stopped to consider the expense this would add to their already strained finances. She wanted to cry, but not in front of him. No – she would never cry in front of Henry Gowen.

Taking a deep breath, she glared at him again, turning the glistening of her eyes to determination as best she could. “Mr. Gowen, I understand. And we intend to meet the financial responsibilities that have passed to us since the loss of our husbands. However, I’d ask that you consider an additional two months’ forgiveness on the rent in light of the suddenness of the circumstances. It would be as though you had paid us for the two weeks.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Mrs. Stanton.”

“ _Well, how_ _does it work?!_ ”

Henry paused and stared at Abigail. She was barely holding her patience, her nostrils flaring, chest rising and falling as she breathed in hard clips to control herself. She saw his eyes travel down. Up again. A smirk.

“I like a passionate woman, Mrs. Stanton. If you’d like to make another offer for me to consider, I will be here in the office this evening.”

Abigail took another deep breath in as she slowly accepted his meaning. Her chin turned up with a haughty righteousness, but she said nothing.

“Otherwise,” he shrugged, “I expect to have your rent payment on the 15th.”

***

Abigail walked back to the main street, fuming at the whole of things. The accident, the losses, the money, her clever plan that now seemed anything but, and Mr. Gowen’s brazen advances on top of it all. She was not a delicate woman - the past two weeks had proven this to her - but how much must she be tested with at once?

The nerve of Henry Gowen to proposition her. Her Noah had been one of his top workers, and he was barely in his grave! And of course the offenses to her own propriety - the savageness with which he cast his leering eyes over her body. It made a chill run through her.

When Abigail reached the centre of town, she saw that the rest of the women were frantically crowding into the saloon, where Elizabeth would be waiting for the students to return from recess. She rushed to catch up, but the widows were too engrossed in their shared alarm to see her come in behind.

“We can’t go back and complain, he’ll just take them away!”

“I’ve been looking for work for two months – it’s impossible!”

“Of course it is. In a town this size? Even if we sell our own crafting, we’re only taking money from each other. The only work is mining or teaching.”

“Should we get rid of Miss Thatcher?”

“That’s still only work for one of us. What will the rest do?”

“Still be paying into the salary, that’s what. Maybe we should let the mining company pay for the school.”

“They will be either way, since we’ll probably all need to end up on their payroll!”

“Oh, I can’t go back, I just can’t!”

“Ladies!” Elizabeth shouted. The group turned to her, uninviting, which did not increase the likelihood she would be keeping her job. She continued less confidently. “I’m sure we can figure this out. We just… need a little more time…”

“Oh, Miss Thatcher, please!” Florence spat out. “You can at _least_ give us the courtesy of not pretending that ‘you’ and ‘we’ are in any respect the same. You have lost no one, and have sacrificed nothing, and you will never need to.”

The room fell silent. Elizabeth could not – dared not – muster a response. The rustle of Abigail’s dress against the wood floor finally shifted their attention.

Abigail moved past them all, cautiously, to stand at the front of the room. She laid a soothing hand on the teacher’s shoulder. “Thank you, Elizabeth, for trying to help.” To the assembled group, she said, “Ladies, I need to apologize for the part I played in pushing this resolution. I know the past two weeks were hard on everyone, and the next several will be as well, and maybe I should have just let people go their separate ways.” She began to tear up. “But we’re a family here in Coal Valley. I don’t want our children to lose this school that we fought for. I don’t want to lose these houses we fought for. I don’t want to lose Molly’s laugh or Florence’s wit or Cat’s kindness. Do you? Haven’t we all lost enough?”

The widows shuffled, their eyes lowered. They wanted to believe there was hope but they could see none. Cat Montgomery had fallen into a chair, and now she put her head in her hands.

“But Abigail,” she pleaded. “what are we going to do?”

Abigail looked around. She did not have a family left – no children still to raise like the others. But she had this.

***

He hadn’t expected her, she could tell. She shut the door.

His mouth covered hers forcefully, tilting her head back. Her hair was down. He ran a hand up the back of her neck and grabbed it in a fist. She grunted and pushed up toward him, easing the grip on her hair but kissing him harder, opening her mouth. He moaned.

She reached a hand down and felt his hardness growing, how quickly she’d excited him. She broke away and let him kiss and nip at her neck. “Two months,” she reminded him. Reminded herself.

He didn’t answer. She tightened her hand against him, adding some pressure. Another moan. “Two months,” he said.

She heard it there. The desperation to please her. She pushed him off of her, against his desk. His eyes were stunned and eager, waiting to see what she would do.

Her demeanor was all business as she took off layer after layer of clothing, renewing eye contact with him each time. She was daring him to move, but he remained compliant, patient. They both knew she was doing what she needed to, but she would do it how she wanted to.

She walked forward, defiantly. Brushed past him, skin against suit. She bent herself over the desk, placing her hands down purposefully on its shiny surface, displaying herself for him to take.

He moved slowly around her, the fabric of his trousers sweeping over her backside as he brought his hips to rest against her. She could feel him prodding at her entrance, straining to be inside of her. He smoothed his warm hands up and down her body, coming around her shoulders, slipping off her arms to cup her breasts. He exhaled in shuddering breaths, rubbing the side of her nipples with his thumbs as he massaged her soft, pliant skin. Somewhere in the office, the ticking of a clock conspired with the slow taunt of his hands. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip as he continued to explore her, moving his hands down her stomach into the tuft of hair that covered her mound.

He teased the top of her folds open with one light finger, pressing it right above her clit. Her breath caught involuntarily, and she clenched her muscles up toward her hips. He relented, finally moving his hands back in front of him to roughly knead her exposed ass, still pressed against him.

He removed his jacket, then began undoing buttons until he was able to push down his trousers and long johns. She shut her eyes again, face down toward the desk where he could not see, her heart pounding. She felt him hesitate.

She looked back over her shoulder. He wanted her. He wanted her to want him. She leaned back, halfway standing. Lifting one arm, she wrapped it around his neck and pulled him back down with her, their bodies bending together. His arms held her underneath him as he propped himself up around her. Her lips grazed his ear as she whispered hotly.

“Three months.”

He pulled back slightly, then plunged into her with a violent thrust. He let his cries out into the soft skin of her back, She remained stoic, allowing herself only tight, muffled sounds as he pushed against her again and again. He stood back, erect, using the control to drive himself deeper inside of her with each movement. His hands pulled at her hips, slamming her into the hard ‘v’ that framed his abdomen. He began to gasp and pant as he felt his quickly-mounting orgasm. Her forearms squeaked against the desk, friction against her skin.

He came inside her with a shout that was like a call to God to spare him.

They were both breathing hard. A droplet of sweat fell from his head to her back. He ran his hands one more time up her side, stopping under her breasts.

“Three months.” 

***

The scent of him was everywhere. She scrubbed herself with the washcloth, dipping it over and over again into the heated water in the basin.


	2. Chapter 2

> _  
> B y the authority of Mr. Henry Gowen, Executive Director of the Pacific Northwest Mining Company, the rental payment owed on Lot #__ has been waived for the occupancy period of September 15, 1910 through December 15, 1910, insofar as the premises remain occupied by and under the contract of the current resident, ____. The next rental payment of **$15** will be due on December 15, 1910. _

> _The Company extends this goodwill gesture in recognition of the losses that have affected the community, and the effort put forth by the recently deceased miners’ widows in supporting the Company’s endeavors. PNWM remains a dedicated supporter of Coal Valley and its inhabitants._

“They’re only doing this so we don’t go after bigger settlements.”

“We couldn’t afford a lawyer anyway.”

“It’s still $45 saved.”

“I doubt I can find work even if you gave me another six months.”

“Easier to find a new husband.”

“Not at my age.”

“Well, there are going to be new miners coming in.”

“For heavens’ sake, Molly, our husbands are barely cold!”

“I’m not talking about husbands, Cat, I’m talking about people spending money!”

“Why _did_ they agree to do this when they still have new miners coming in? Abigail?”

The gaggle that had gathered outside the row houses turned its attention to her. Abigail’s face felt like it was on fire, and she prayed the other women could not see the flush in the light of the frontier sun. She inhaled and stood straighter, trying to muster strength and credibility to deliver the words she’d practiced.

“Well, after we spoke yesterday, I went back and gave Mr. Gowen a piece of my mind. I told him there was no good in having a company town if there was no one in it, and wouldn’t he have a difficult time attracting new men to a town without any women?” (At this, the ladies chuckled.) “Not to mention we could give his new recruits a few reasons to go over to his competitors if the company were to leave us feeling so mistreated. Now, of course, there’s only so much threatening I could do, and Mr. Gowen was none too happy about it, but I suspect you’re right, Florence,” she said, seizing on her friend’s cynicism to bolster her excuses, “I think he figured this might be a bit of hush money.”

The women nodded, satisfied for the moment. It was a better deal than they’d walked away with yesterday at least. Though they still felt exploited, they also knew they had very little power to invoke to do better. They thanked Abigail, sincerely and humbly, for what she’d done, and she gritted her teeth into a fake smile to hide the shame rising in the pit of her stomach. When the widows finally disbursed, her shoulders dropped and she tried to control her suddenly panicked breathing.

“Are you okay?”

Abigail jumped at Elizabeth’s voice behind her. Turning, she put on her fake smile again and nodded, but it was obvious as she frantically wiped at her eyes and the invisible dirt on her dress that she was not actually okay.

“Did something else happen with Mr. Gowen yesterday? You were in such a state when you came in last night I didn’t want to ask, but I was so worried about where you’d been,” Elizabeth inquired with concern.

She’d prepared a story for this too, of course. “Oh, Elizabeth, that man!” Abigail sputtered, turning her fluster to her advantage. “I gave him all the reasons and threats I could, just as I told the others, but of course he was so terribly heartless. Finally, I walked out and went to the saloon. Now I’m not proud of myself for it, Elizabeth, but I’d gotten so worked up, I just needed to go somewhere and stew for a bit. And what do you know, that Mr. Gowen found me there and said he’d talked to the company and they’d decided to reconsider after all! After all that worry!” she said, exasperated.

“Oh, Abigail, I’m so sorry!” Elizabeth hugged her. “I’m sure it was not pleasant at all to have to go and argue with Mr. Gowen, but you’ve done such good for the widows and for the town. You should be proud of how brave you’ve been in standing up for yourself. Noah would be proud too.”

Her friend was trying to be kind, but Abigail was trying not to flinch, her throat burning with the threat of vomit.

“I have to go meet Jack, but would you please let the other women know I’ll be forgoing my salary for three months as well?”

“Elizabeth, that’s not necessary.”

“Abigail, you know well it is,” Elizabeth smiled at her. “I’ll write to my father to send what he can as well so I may still help you with the expenses.” Abigail opened her mouth to speak, but the younger woman put up a hand to stop her. “I won’t hear another word about it,” she said and Abigail gave a quick smile of thanks.

Elizabeth went down the stairs, and Abigail held to the house’s frame for strength as soon as her friend’s eyes were off of her.

“Oh, and Abigail?” Elizabeth suddenly said, turning back.

“Hmm?”

“You’ve been through a tragedy, have had terrible run-ins with Mr. Gowen, and been a coal miner for the past two weeks. I’ve burnt down your teacherage and imposed upon your hospitality. You don’t need to scrub yourself off to hide a drink or two from me in your own home. I understand.”

Abigail smiled half-heartedly again, truly grateful for this reprieve from lying to explain her actions. But as Elizabeth walked away, she knew that the tumult of her mind would not remain calmed. The pounding of her heart was like an echo, reverberating where Henry’s relentless entry had left her sore. There didn’t seem to be a single emotion she hadn’t experienced in the past 24 hours. Confusion, regret, guilt, anger, resolution, sadness, panic… even a strange pride, as Elizabeth had unknowingly implied.

In the thick silence of that room yesterday morning, she’d felt the weight land on her shoulders. She had been the one to cause them injury with her mining work plan – more money out to the company doctor. She had been the mouthpiece, agreeing to the risks, though it was not her small child that would be left behind. She had been the one to halt the others’ plans to find less costly housing away from a town that no longer held a purpose for them, wanting selfishly to keep a community because she no longer had a household. In a way, it almost made her resent the women for letting her influence them so much, for putting her in the position of having to save them from themselves.

… No. That wasn’t fair. This had all been her doing, and in the end, it was her decision to go further, too far, instead of turning back.

She had to patch up the mess she’d made. She’d always been the tough one. She’d bet that she could be the tough one with Mr. Gowen too, and she’d been right. She’d noticed, even when Noah was alive, how Henry would come out to greet her when she came by the mine. How he would tip his hat a little too admiringly, keep his eyes on her a little too long.

And now? Her husband was dead. She was nearly 50 years old, unlikely to remarry, unable to bear another child. There was no one else to be tainted by her dishonorable actions, were they discovered. What was her body to her now? A vessel. A tool.

But those rationalizations had only lasted until he’d slipped himself out of her. The heat of the moment removed, the objective accomplished, she was suddenly just a naked woman - cold and exposed. Abigail Stanton, bent over and fucked in an office her husband and son had walked through countless times, by a man whom neither had respected and who had not respected them. Did she truly have nothing to lose that she could have detached herself so easily? Could she even trust Henry Gowen?

***

“Three _months_?!”

“I assure you, it will be less costly in the long run. You know that our payouts are among the lowest already, and BC Mining gives their widows 6 months in housing. This will keep them in their place.”

Spurlock shook his head and sighed. “Well, alright, maybe you’re on to something. Hope the Chief thinks so too,” he said with a pointed look as he sauntered out.

Henry Gowen was a bit nervous about that himself, knowing he was on thin ice with the company already. His letter to the Chief Executive Officer would be the picture of loyalty, though, relating the brilliance of his plan to protect the company, who were merely victims of this tragedy and need not be burdened by any threat of litigation. A scoff escaped him involuntarily at the unctuousness of the task ahead, but he was used to it. Being all talk.

Though his lecherous threat to Abigail Stanton was not a proud moment, he hadn’t truly believed she would accept the proposition. The goodness in her that made him assume the outcome was perhaps the same goodness that made her offer herself to him. He rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t want to think about what he’d done – what her “offer” really was. But it was very difficult not to keep picturing her body, uncovered and framed by the fire, glowing and tempting, looking like sin itself. He could not stop remembering the way she’d gasped when he had traced a small circle where she was most sensitive. And my god, the feeling of coming inside of her…. no human could deserve to feel that way.

Certainly not him. No. Certainly not him.


	3. Chapter 3

_“What used to be here?”_

_“A café.”_

It was another way to help. It was a living for her, and if all went well, she could employ some of the widows too. And everyone including the children would have a place to stop for food, letting the women be available for more desirable work hours without having to be home early to cook dinner or run back for lunch. It was perfect.

She needed a purpose. She needed a distraction. But she also needed money. And in this town, there was only one place to get it.

***

Abigail’s hands were shaking as she approached the Company office. The possibility that she might have to make another “deal” with Henry Gowen had caused a maelstrom in her mind for the past two days. She’d tried to calm herself repeatedly, telling herself that if she went during the day, while his security was there, and presented agreeable and rational terms, it would all be okay. No matter what happened, she would not let Henry rattle her. She was the person to run this café, and as a woman going into business, she would have to learn to stay strong and stand up for herself.

She walked up the stairs, smoothing her dress nervously as she went. With a last deep breath, she entered the office.

Henry looked up from his writing, quite surprised to see her. “Mrs. Stanton,” he addressed her cautiously, moving to stand in greeting. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Abigail looked around the imposing room, her heart falling a bit when she noted no one else was there with him. She would not comment on it though. Would not suggest she was afraid to be there.

“Mr. Gowen, hello. I hoped you would have a few minutes to meet with me.”

“Of course,” he said eagerly, gesturing to the chair across from him. She gave a reluctant sort of curtsy in acknowledgment and moved to sit.

“I hope you’ve been well,” he said with an awkward smile once she’d settled. “We haven’t, uh, crossed paths much lately.”

“Well, I’m not sure that would have been wise.” She shifted uncomfortably.

Henry lowered his voice, even though they were alone in the office. “Mrs. Stanton, I want to assure you that you have my utmost discretion in any dealings we might have.”

Abigail cleared her throat. “That’s good to hear, Mr. Gowen,” she said somewhat loudly. “Because I’m here about a deal.” She gave him a pointed look. “A strictly professional business deal.”

Now Henry sat back, unsure. “What is it I can do for you?”

“As you said, I haven’t been around much as I’ve been trying to determine how I should be moving forward now. What I’ve decided is that I’d like to re-open the café.”

Henry blinked. “Well, Mrs. Stanton, that café was closed for a reason. I’m not sure that’s a good investment for you.”

“I beg to differ, Mr. Gowen, I think it will be a good investment for me, and for you. That’s why I’m here. To prop—to ask, ask the Company, that is, to be a partner – an investment partner.” She was fumbling and she hated it. She sat up straighter. “In return for some initial capital, I would like to offer the Company 25% of the profits.”

“That’s a very small stake in something that probably won’t even make a profit,” he shook his head. “And the upfront maintenance – “

“I will handle that myself.”

“I don’t think it’s worth the Company’s time without 75%, Mrs. Stanton.”

“I can offer 50/50. And I promise you – the Company – that business will be better than you expect. People want variety, and the widows need jobs and to worry less about food. This is going to work, Mr. Gowen.”

Self-loathing washed over her again. She hated having to come begging to him. She hated the eagerness in her voice, trying to convince him to give her something.

He put a hand on his face, rubbing his beard and considering how the Company would react to this agreement. Whether he could justify himself through another impulsive financial decision. The Company _did_ have a problem that needed solving and he knew it. In fact, he’d caused it. Yes, unfortunately, Mr. Gowen the Company Man knew exactly what he was supposed to do here, even though Henry the man knew exactly why he shouldn’t do it. She had said it was supposed to be strictly a business proposition, though, hadn’t she? The long-term payoff of the café must be worth more than the temporary rent. Was it possible she’d understand, maybe even have expected such a negotiation coming in?

He tapped his fingers on the desk, uneasy. “50/50 would work… but I’ll need your row house.”

He knew it was a mistake as soon as he said it. The flare of betrayal that tightened her whole demeanor was unmistakable.

“Mr. Gowen, we had a _deal_!” she cried angrily.

“The Company has new miners coming and we need homes for them,” he tried to explain.

“How stupid of me, to think you might have a _shred_ of honor!”

“There are two rooms above the café, you can live there. Rent will still be waived until December per our original agreement. I’m sorry, Abigail, but this isn’t personal.”

He had that same imploring tone in his voice as he had that night two weeks ago, anxious for her not to be cross with him. He had laid a thick hand on the dark wood desk, reaching toward her in a supplicating gesture. Abigail’s gaze turned serious, slowly traveling up from the desk to his face.

“I’d like to see the rooms.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“If you’re proposing I move into the café, I’d like to see the rooms,” she said, drawing the words out with a forceful precision. Henry hesitated.

“Now.”

***

The two of them climbed the stairs to the apartment, Abigail in front, the specter of him looming very tangibly at her back. There was a musty smell in the air from years of disuse. Little furniture remained, save for an oil lamp in the corner of the floor and what was likely a chair covered with a white cloth.

Henry cleared his throat and gestured around. “It’s a respectable space, as you can see. Room for Miss Thatcher as well, just through there.”

Abigail’s steps made slow creaks rise from the floorboards as she circled the room deliberately, almost menacingly, trying to keep control while she figured out the next move. In truth, she didn’t know why she’d brought him here. Maybe she thought it was what he wanted – that he was just playing a game to get her to agree. But if she gave in to him again, would it never end? She’d thought her family’s home was already secure. She thought it was done. Her head started to spin with doubt. She had no idea what she was doing here. She wanted to be home. Home. She pictured the notches in the wall where she’d measured Peter as he grew up.

Her voice rung out abruptly into the empty space. “You could let me keep my house, couldn’t you, Mr. Gowen?”

Henry could feel his blood starting to pump even faster. “We do need housing for the miners, Mrs. Stanton. That’s always been true.”.

She nodded and came closer. “But the Company already thinks the houses are remaining occupied. So you don’t need my house, truly, do you? You could let me keep it. For good.”

She stood right in front of him now, staring at him with an arched eyebrow. Tense seconds ticked by, like paces in a duel. “Something else you want from me, Mrs. Stanton?”

Abigail matched his low, husky challenge. “Well, you seem to be a man with a lot of… power.”

He pushed her up against one of the walls and she let him. They both knew there was not a lot of time. Several people had seen them on their way. Keeping his eyes on her, he reached down and worked one hand up through her skirts, stopping when he was able to rest his grip right where her thigh began. Twisting his palm out, he worked two fingers under the cloth of her underwear, making a satisfied sound as he pushed them inside of her. As she had last time, Abigail reacted to the pressure but remained mostly quiet.

With the other hand, Henry undid his suspenders and trousers, finally reaching down into his loosened pants. She saw from his movements that he had begun to stroke himself, and he fell forward a bit, leaning against her for support and breathing hot against her neck.

She started to think that maybe she was all wrong. That she didn’t deserve to stay in the house where her family had lived, after what she had done – was doing – to keep it. That she shouldn’t give him this power over her forever. She started to think that she should stop him, that there was nothing to be gained after all. But having let her mind drift, she was caught off guard by a sudden charge of pleasure shooting through her, and a throaty cry inadvertently escaped her lips as her head pitched back.

Henry froze. Abigail held her breath, shocked and terrified. Still buried in her hair, his face against the nape of her neck, he tentatively crooked one of his fingers still inside of her and slowly stroked it downward. She shut her eyes and pressed her lips together, but knew he could still hear her whimpering because he shuddered with pleasure at the sound. A tear curved around her pink cheek.

He gradually increased his force and speed again, working himself again too, and now she was incredibly aware of his fist thumping against her, through their clothes, each time. She pulled his bottom layers down, just enough, and found herself fascinated by the sight of him. Different from her husband. The guilt hit her again, distressingly mixed with the uninvited waves of desire that kept coursing through her, and she grabbed at Henry’s shoulders to steady herself. Soon she was using the leverage to push herself up and down onto his hand, repositioning herself if he strayed from where she needed him. She could feel that she had become slicker around him, could hear the sounds of her wetness in between her ragged breathing.

He was thrusting harder against his own hand now too, squeezing intermittently at the tip. “Abigail… Abigail…,” he was repeating in a daze, “I’m going to - unnh!” His fingers curled and grabbed inside of her as cum erupted out of him onto her dress, his head pressing against the wall behind her as he spasmed to completion.

The roughness of him inside of her as he finished had strangely soothed out the throbbing sensations that had been tormenting her, and she fell back onto the flats of her feet, letting out a soft low sound of relief.

Her head had somehow come forward to rest on his shoulder. She looked up, feeling a little mystified. She began to notice how damp and hot she was and brought her two hands down to push lightly at his chest. Henry backed off, leaving an empty space where he’d penetrated her. Keeping her eyes averted, Abigail moved to the dust-covered cloth and used it to dab up the spots on her dress while Henry put himself back together. She moved the folds of the skirt around, hiding the stains in the pattern and the pleats.

He wiped his hands off too as best he could, trying to figure out how he could find a place and an excuse to go wash up – maybe taking a walk out to the mine. Abigail was attempting to fix her hair using the faint reflection in one window that didn’t face the street.

“Put some dust in it,” he offered.

“What?” she snapped. Her tone was distrustful. Defensive in her embarrassment.

“In your hair,” he said more softly. “And on your dress. It will look like you’ve been rooting around, inspecting the place.”

She gave a slow, silent nod and took the advice, wiping at the windowsill. He looked at her regretfully, unnerved by the quiet that now hung stiffly in the unmoving air.

“As far as anyone knows we were only looking at the café. The Company need never know this offer was on the table.”

“No, Henry, I’m...” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m going to take it.” Abigail turned to see Henry looking stunned, and once again she tried to emanate a courage she didn’t feel. “It’s time to start fresh. I want this café. I want these rooms, on our original agreement. And I want 60% of the profits.”

They stared each other down again, Abigail’s eyes glinting. Henry broke first.

“I’m sure the Company will find those terms very acceptable, Mrs. Stanton.”

“Excellent. And I assure you, Mr. Gowen -- there will be no further need for negotiations.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter borrows a scene verbatim from canon but you should not assume for purposes of this story that anything else has happened completely in line with in canon.

“It’s not a gift, it’s an investment. And I got one of the rowhouses back for it. This is a win for us.”

“I don’t think Mr. Reed is going to be impressed with a questionably profitable investment in a business run by a woman, in exchange for a 400 square-foot house the Company already owns.”

”Trust me, Mr. Spurlock, this town loves Abigail Stanton and they’re tired of the saloon. It’s going to pay off.”

***

Abigail burned the dress. A waste, she knew. Or one less thing to pack. She allowed only silent tears to fall as she watched the fabric wilt and char.

Elizabeth thought Abigail’s swings from anger to sadness to panic made sense. She was leaving her home and there was the uncertainty of starting a new business as well. Of course, it _was_ partially that. She wished that were all of it. It drove her mad that, in a time when she should be cementing the images of this house and its artifacts into her brain, the image of Henry kept interjecting itself so insistently.

The daytime felt almost normal, even enjoyable sometimes when she was occupied with fixing up the café, or listening to Elizabeth talk about school or Jack. At home, she was used to being surrounded by pictures of Noah and Peter, and dealing with that grief. She’d finally had to take the time to pack up their things now – something she hadn’t been able to do in the four months since the accident – and that brought on a flood of memories and stories to share with Elizabeth.

But the nighttime…. when it was quiet… when she undressed and laid down in her marital bed…

She’d loved Noah. They had built a life together, something much deeper than physicality. And though it simply wasn’t a frequent occurrence for them, she had never thought of their lovemaking as unsatisfying.

No.

But.

She had also never known she could be satisfied like _that_. In her marriage, her orgasms were difficult to achieve, and thus secondary and… pleasant… if she bothered to insist on them at all. Yet in that apartment with Henry, she’d felt like she was going out of her mind. It was like she’d stopped thinking, just kept rising up and up and up, and then… an intense calm. She thought there might be more too. She wanted more.

Abigail threw her face into her pillow, trying to suffocate her frustration and shame. She disgusted herself. She was surrounded by the misery that Henry Gowen and his company had wrought. An empty house, full of boxes, packed with memories of a life that she could never recover and that she would pass on to no one. The Stanton name in Coal Valley would come to an end with her – a whore and a liar. Put in her place just as he’d wanted.

Fuck Henry Gowen.

***

> Mr. Gowen:
> 
> What’s done is done. It is best for the Company not to kick up a fuss now. But let me make myself very clear -- I’m growing quite tired of hearing about incidents in Coal Valley involving Abigail Stanton. If you don’t put an end to it, I will.
> 
> Gunther Reed

“Post a telegram back to Mr. Reed. Tell him to consider it taken care of.”

***

It seemed somehow more distressing to give Henry breakfast than to give him her body. He was alternately threatening and lewd, always in front of his security officers, like he was toying with her reputation. Batting his knowledge of her lowest moments around in his hands like a pistol he could fire out at any moment.

One day he came in clean shaven and she almost thought he was handsome before she realized who it was. It felt like he was playing some sort of psychological game with her. She almost wished they were back in some private space where she wouldn’t have to swallow all this rage and helplessness into a sweet greeting of a smile, an offer of coffee, the dainty little fold of a to-go bag. The ding of the cash register sometimes made her want to take a wooden bat to it. She couldn’t live like this.

Jack’s investigation was a godsend. She’d known all along that there was more reason to hate Henry Gowen. And now she would bring him down. Down here with her.

*******

Abigail turned the café sign to Closed. She opened the thin file she’d taken from the mining office, scanning the safety protocol reports it contained. There were some crossed-out numbers, others that were circled -- she didn’t know quite what any of it meant. She had barely been able to attempt it when the door opened and her heart leapt to her throat at the familiar sight of the fur-lined coat and bowler hat. Henry entered with one of his security officers and she scrambled to shove the file under a red cloth on the prep table before walking forward.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gowen, but we’re closed,” she said tersely.

Henry was looking at her intently. He ignored her statement. “I wanted to come by and thank you for your delivery this morning.”

“You’re welcome,” she answered cautiously, hoping again to keep the conversation short.

“You brought pastries and I had to ask myself why,” he leered.

“I was just being neighborly.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?”

She was sickeningly sweet now _._ “I can’t think of another reason.”

“Perhaps you were hoping to see me.”

She began to wish she’d poisoned the pastries. “As I’ve said before, Mr. Gowen,” she answered through gritted teeth, “if you’re attempting to be flirtatious with me, it is neither welcomed nor appreciated.”

“I guess you’re right. We’re simply business partners,” he emphasized the words. “But perhaps over time we could become friends?”

“I doubt it, but there’s certainly no reason we can’t be civil.” She leaned on her words as well. _Civil is the best we will ever be._

Henry’s face grew grim. “Mr. Richardson, how long was Mrs. Stanton alone in my office this morning?”

“About five minutes, sir.”

“Your being civil, does that include stealing the file from my office that you have hidden underneath your red tablecloth?”

She turned on him overtly now. “I know what you did.”

Henry plowed through, talking over her words. “That file is my property and I’ll be needing it back!”

But she continued. “You murdered my son and my husband. You murdered half the men in this town!”

Henry took a deep breath. “Mr. Richardson, you can head home. Everything’s under control here.”

Abigail swallowed hard as the security officer nodded and left, leaving her and Henry alone. Henry walked back to the door and locked it. Abigail started to back away toward the kitchen.

He saw her retreating and charged back up toward her, an urgency in his step, but he stopped short just in front of her. His voice dropped, low and ominous. “Abigail, don’t do this,” he warned.

“Or what?” she bit back, shaking.

“Or this is all going to fall on Noah.” Abigail’s eyes flashed at the sound of her husband’s name on Henry’s lips, but his intense stare remained fixed on her. “He was my right-hand man, and it will be very easy to blame the superintendent for an operation gone bad. Do you understand?” he said darkly.

Rage heated her face and fear made her lash out like a trapped animal. With a growling yell, Abigail shoved Henry against the café wall, his hat falling to the floor from the force of it. “This is your fault! You did this! Don’t you dare say my Noah’s name! Don’t you _ever_ say it!” she yelled. “Hasn’t his memory been desecrated enough!?”

Henry pressed himself back into the wall, like he was holding himself away from her. He seemed to be stopping himself from responding, breathing tightly, which only made her more infuriated. That he would come here and threaten her, threaten her late husband, and then have the nerve to act as though _he_ should be afraid. She shoved him again, his body recoiling with a grunt. “Come on, you coward. You slimy, lying coward. You’ve done everything you can do to me, why don’t you hit me too?” she taunted him.

“Is that what you want?”

She reeled back and slapped him hard, the sound ringing out in the empty cafe. It felt incredible. She struck him again.

She lifted her hand a third time, but now Henry grabbed her wrist. With his other hand, he circled her waist and pulled her against him. She fought against his grip, grinding her hips into him, pushing at his shoulder with her free hand. He looked at her heavily, achingly, and then he was kissing her, forcing her mouth open, invading her.

Her hand came up to grip his hair, holding him to her mouth where her tongue was fighting back. Every part of them was in conflict, and grunts turned to moans as she rubbed herself up and down his body, anxious for dominance. Excitement began to twitch between her legs, very much against her will and better judgment.

She pulled her arms free and pushed at his coats, shoving them down onto the floor beneath them as he shook himself free. He shifted his attentions to her earlobe and neck, sucking, licking, humming his desire against her tender skin.

She began to fumble frantically with the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt. He grasped her covered breast, his strong hand squeezing and rubbing it, as he silently cursed the layers of clothing still between them. His need becoming uncontainable, he tore open the front of her dress, the buttons flying onto the floor. She broke away from him and pulled the dress over her head, leaving her in a slip and panties, both of which were also quickly shed. Her hair was falling from its pins and she shook it out around her bare shoulders. He gripped her neck underneath the loose waves and kissed her hard again, relentlessly capturing and tasting her as he pressed his growing hardness between her legs.

Her pussy was throbbing now, pulsing alongside her fury. With a sudden fierceness, she pulled Henry down with her to the café floor, still covered in dirt and grease from the day’s customers. Rolling him onto his back, she feverishly removed his remaining clothes until finally she was straddling him, her knees on either side of his powerful thighs.

She reached forward, wrapping a slender hand around his shaft. His breath started to catch as she stroked him slowly and deliberately, with a look that was almost menacing. His cock twitched in her palm, somehow becoming even more aroused than it already was.

“Is this what you wanted, Henry? When you came here to threaten me?”

“I didn’t… I came here to warn you… to protect you,” he panted, struggling to even remember that far back.

“Really? You want to protect me?” Abigail asked, a caustic note in her voice. She moved her hand to his chest and lifted herself forward, sliding over his painful erection.

“Who’s going to protect you?”

In an instant, she had mounted him, taking all of him fully inside of her. He cried out from the intensity of it, his orgasm building almost immediately when he felt how wet she was.

“I’m going to destroy you,” she growled as she rode him. “I’m going to take everything I want from you.”

He lifted his arms and grabbed her hips to move her faster, needing to somehow feel her slick cunt against every inch of him at once.

“Are you going to give it to me, Henry?” She rolled her hips, and he moaned. “Are you going to give me that file?”

“Fuck, Abigail, you’re going to kill me.”

Electric shocks surged through her every time she rocked against him, and she hated how good he felt. She let go of his chest and whipped her hand across his face again, and another time, both of them groaning as they felt the effects of it stir through their joined bodies. The heated, masculine sound of his desire added even more urgency to her already excruciating need for release and she bucked and grinded against him, completely unrestrained. Her hands clawed at his broad, solid body, trying to find the climax she so desperately wanted. He was calling her name over and over again, and she was coming closer and closer, and then she was sobbing, her orgasm spilling out of her in agonizing, incredible convulsions as he emptied himself inside of her like a primal force, a supernova blinding them both before they ultimately collapsed, leaving just the heated aftermath of their explosion.


	5. Chapter 5

They were both still trembling as they found their clothes and recomposed themselves. Abigail had felt an immediate wave of regret once her rapturous haze had been dispelled. How had she turned from anger to sex so quickly? Had she wanted it to happen? Was she in control of this at all?

She winced as she moved away from him, in mental anguish as she recalled the way she’d cried out for a man who was threatening her livelihood – who’d possibly been responsible for her son’s death. The things she’d let him do to her because of the basest instincts of her flesh.

She wouldn’t look at him as she dressed. He came to put a hand on her shoulder, but she threw herself from his grasp like he was the devil himself come to drag her to hell.

“Abigail, please listen to me,” Henry pleaded.

“Why?” she said, red with renewed anger and embarrassment. “You came here to threaten me.”

“I wasn’t threatening to blame Noah, Abigail. I was telling you that’s what they’re going to do.”

Abigail stopped and turned to him. “What do you mean?”

“The Company is ruthless. You don’t know the lengths they will go to to protect their business. And if they can blame a dead man, they will.”

“They’re going to frame Noah?”

“They weren’t always. But that was the plan if someone happened to pursue an investigation into the accident. And now they’ve got you on their radar, Abigail. They checked the office as soon as you left and saw that the file was missing. I had to come here to confront you and get it back.”

He picked up the file with a regretful look and tucked it into his coat. “I know you have no reason to trust me, Abigail. But if you keep this, they’ll just come after you more quickly. If I bring it back, I can get them to leave their guard down a bit longer, against me and you. That still won’t be the end of it though. It’s just buying time.”

“But for what? What is it I’m going to find out?”

Henry’s eyes were dark. “I can’t get into everything right now. I’ve been here too long already. But I need you to go through Noah’s things and see if you can find a safety inspection report from January. Then we’ll find a way to talk again, but you have to stay away from the office. They’ll be watching both of us now.”

Abigail’s head was spinning with new sensations and new information. There was also a particularly unnerving dissonance in talking to Henry Gowen about how his company may have contributed to her family’s deaths while she could still feel his ejaculations leaking onto her thigh. In a futile gesture of protection, she clutched the torn top of her dress together to cover her slip.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, disbelief coloring her voice.

Henry picked his hat up from the floor, and spun it shyly in his hands. “Just trying to make things right, I guess.” He hurried to the door while she stared after him wide-eyed. Turning back, he said, “See what you can find. And Abigail? Be careful.”

***

Abigail had no idea what had just happened. She laid a hand on her heated face and tried to smooth her hair. The café felt big and empty, a chilling void left in Henry’s wake. She gripped the banister as she climbed the stairs up to her rooms, struck with an urgent need to hide the state of her dress, mostly from herself. On the way up, she was caught off guard by a tremor coursing through her, like an aftershock squeezing the last bit of a dreamy fog from her.

Her body was a traitor. She’d never be able to hide from what she’d done. Henry would always know how eager she’d been to take him inside of her, how loudly she’d screamed, the things she’d said as she tightened and spasmed around him –- she didn’t even remember what she’d said, and she didn’t think she wanted to.

Once upstairs, she stripped naked, wanting to change every garment she’d been wearing. As she reached for new clothes, she caught sight of herself in her mirror. It was fascinating, she thought, how she could feel so battered and spent up with not a mark on her. She found that she was running her gaze over her reflection in a slow examination, considering how her nakedness and movements might appear to Henry, who seemed to find her so shamelessly arousing. She ran a hand through her hair, combing it out around her shoulders with her fingers. It made her look younger, her hair down. More like when she and Noah had first met.

Another wave of guilt churned in her stomach. She went to the basin that held the morning’s water, now cold, and did her best to clean off, swabbing the tender area between her legs with the wet cloth. Tears threatened and she shivered. From the cold. From the feeling of his imprint still on her.

Did she trust him? He was right, she had no reason to. He’d blackmailed her, violated her body, not to mention what he may or may not have known about the mine accident. The only Henry Gowen she’d ever known was the company man. Noah had fought incessantly with him, complained about him at family dinners -- back when she was a wife, and a mother, before Henry Gowen’s company took that away from her. And now he was telling her that he was on her side. Was he? And even if he was, would he still be if she ever stopped giving him what he wanted? Was it about justice or her? Would she end up hurt in the end? And what was it that would hurt her?

No. She needed to keep thinking, keep looking for answers, for a way out. She cursed herself for letting him take that file back, even though it had made sense at the time and she hadn’t had a lot of choice. There was no way for her to get back into those files now though. Jack had left for Cape Fullerton and it would take some time for the new constable to compel a search of the office. And if what Henry said about Pacific Northwest’s nefarious intentions were true, the Company might destroy them by then. The only lead she had was his direction about the inspection report.

She dressed in new clothes and pulled out her husband’s paperwork. She checked the clock to see what kind of time she had before the dinner hour, and considered not opening back up at all. The sign was already turned, though she would need to explain herself to people, particularly Elizabeth and Julie when they returned home. Revealing specific information about the investigation was premature, and revealing anything else about the past half hour was.... not ideal.

There was about an hour and a half before things would really pick up in the café, so she set to work, grateful for a different kind of distraction. She’d done a cursory search through Noah’s boxes when she had to make the death benefits claims, and when she was moving to the café rooms there wasn’t really a need to sort through them at any detailed level instead of just moving them already packed up, so she started from the beginning. With little organization to rely on, she set about making piles, separating pay stubs from medical bills and Peter’s childhood drawings from Noah’s late mother’s letters. The safety reports and notes that have been filed away were inconsistent, some undated, and there was nothing from January of that year. She flipped through things over and over again, growing ever more convinced that Henry had sent her on a wild goose chase.

A door opened downstairs, and Abigail gathered the piles together, placing them back in the box. She could hear Elizabeth and Julie talking on their way up, commiserating about the departure of their loves (a description that was taken with great liberty in Julie’s case). Abigail for one was glad she was no longer harboring the dubious figure that was the wounded Nathaniel, what with everything else on her mind. She slid the box back onto the bottom shelf of her wardrobe just as the two women entered the apartment.

“Abigail!” Elizabeth noted with surprise. “What are you doing up here?”

“Oh, it was the silliest thing. I was leaning over the stove and the handle of the pan caught my dress and ripped it open,” she explained, gesturing at the discarded clothing still on her bed. “Thank goodness no one was around at that time, it would have been dinner and a show!”

“Oh my goodness,” the other woman chuckled, cheeks blushing. “Very lucky indeed!”

“I guess there is some benefit to living right above your business,” Abigail said with a rehearsed good humor. She turned to close the wardrobe back up when a thought struck her.

“Elizabeth?” She spun back to her friend. “I know you just got home, but do you girls mind going downstairs to get dinner prep started while I finish putting myself back together?”

The city-bred sisters shared a tentative look. “Are you sure?” Elizabeth said, making a face.

“You’ll be fine. It’s just chopping up the carrots and potatoes for tonight’s stew. I’ll be along in just a few minutes.”

“Of course. We’re happy to help,” Julie said, her warm smile still tinged with fear.

“Thank you,” Abigail smiled back. After the girls headed down the stairs, she had a second thought. “Be sure to peel them first!” she called out.

Abigail went back to kneel beside the wardrobe where three boxes formed a line across the bottom: one for her records, one for Noah’s, and one for Peter’s. Her sweet, beautiful, and meticulously organized little boy.

In no time at all, she’d found the labeled folder containing the last eight inspection reports in chronological order. But when she flipped to the end, the most recent was from October of last year. At the back of the folder, in lieu of any potential January report, was a piece of paper decorated with Peter’s scratched handwriting:

Clara Blackwood

182 49th Street

Mayerthorpe


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the events of the last chapter and this chapter take place on two different days in canon, but I’ve fudged them onto the same day. Also, two apologies: 1) this is on the shorter side, but Ch 7 will be double this, and 2) might need an extra day before the next update since I'm catching up to what I've written, but this is now fully outlined and on its way!

“Mr. Gowen, I’d like to deputize your men.”

The recently departed Mountie had returned and now stood with his replacement in the doorway of Henry’s office, his tone urgent. Henry moved in front of the fire to block their view from where a stack of files sat, waiting for their turn in the flames.

“What is it, Constable?”

“The Tolliver Gang, a group of bank robbers,” Jack explained. “They came to the café looking for one of their own who had been harbored here. When they didn’t find him, they took Elizabeth and Julie with them.”

Henry controlled his facial expressions. “And the café?” he asked.

“Nothing taken or touched, except for Abigail Stanton,” Constable O’Reilly said. “The gang left her tied up, but we found her. She’s the one who told us what happened.”

Pursing his lips, Henry nodded gruffly. “Seems to me we want to send a message that a company town won’t be trifled with. My men would be happy to accompany you.”

“Mr. Gowen, I don’t think—“

“Mr. Noonan, the Constables have asked for our assistance, and as you know, Pacific Northwest has nothing but contempt for those who do not uphold the law.”

The two security officers tipped their hats reluctantly and exited to their horses to join the search. Jack and Constable O’Reilly made the same gesture, more appreciative though still just as reluctant.

“We appreciate it, Mr. Gowen,” Jack said.

“It’s an honor to help,” Henry responded graciously.

Jack gave a skeptical side look, but had more important things to pursue than Pacific Northwest’s sudden admiration for the law. At least for tonight.

***

“Abigail?”

The familiar voice echoed up the stairwell and she froze. Her face was haunted as he rushed into the room, and he threw his arms around her instinctively, not bothering to take stock of whether she was alone. For some reason, she returned the embrace, comforted by the warmth after two hours of being tethered to her bedpost without a fire or any indication she would be found before morning.

They separated and he examined her face, worry in his eyes. “Abigail, are you okay?”

“Yes… yes, I’m fine. Thank you, Henry.”

“What happened?”

She sighed, exhausted, and sat back on the bed. “Elizabeth’s sister Julie had brought a young man named Nathaniel here a couple of days ago, with a gunshot wound. I thought it was strange but she was so adamant and he was injured, so we cared for him here. He left this morning and it turns out he was part of a gang of bank robbers. They somehow found out he’d been here and came looking for him. When they found out he wasn’t here, they took Julie and Elizabeth with them, so the girls could take them to where Nathaniel might be. God, I hope they’re okay,” she said, putting a hand to her head.

“The Mounties have taken my security officers to help find them. If anyone will not rest until Elizabeth is found, it’s Constable Thornton,” he assured her.

Abigail gave a weak smile at that.

“And what about you?” Henry asked softly.

She waved off the question. “I’m fine.”

Henry came over, squatting down in front of her lap. He tentatively lifted one of her wrists and smoothed a thumb over the marks the ties had made. Abigail watched him, holding her breath.

“They pointed a gun at you.” An observation rather than a question.

She held her voice as steady as she could. “Yes.”

He pressed his forehead into her palm, just above the raw red lines, and she felt… cared for. She hadn’t felt that in a long time. She was always taking care of herself or someone else. And here was Henry Gowen in front of her, who just hours ago had told her he wanted to protect her and was now tending to the bruises she’d been abandoned with here. What was this? The entire day had been a surreal blur. And the words just came out.

“Henry, I found something.”

“What do you mean?”

Her eyes were glistening, some combination of relief and hope and hesitation. “I didn’t find the report from January, but I found something else. An address. In Mayerthorpe.”

Henry furrowed his brows. “That’s one of the places we send the men for supplies. Peter used to volunteer to go there often actually,” he offered, a bit confused.

“I remember,” Abigail agreed. “And Peter’s files were also very organized. The paper was in with the reports for a reason, I’m sure of it. I think we’re going to find something at that address.” _We?_ Why had she said that?

Henry seemed to consider for a minute, wheels spinning. Finally he stood up and nodded resolutely. “We should go tonight.”

“What?” she responded, stunned by every part of the sentence.

“The men have gone to help the mounties, it’s a perfect time for me to leave without them taking notice.”

“Now hold on, Henry. There are a lot of things going on here. First of all, Mayerthorpe is about five hours ride from here, and we can’t show up there in the middle of the night. You won’t be back in the morning,” she pointed out.

“I’ll figure something out,” he said, determination punctuating his words. “Tell them I wasn’t feeling well, or got word about a new recruit and took off early, some story. I can take care of it. But that’s why it’s best for us to get there and back as soon as possible.”

“There’s your second problem, Henry -- this assumption that we’re riding out of here and camping out overnight together. It’s rather bold of you,” she gave him a harsh look.

“Well, I assume you wouldn’t want me go without you, you wouldn’t trust that.” Abigail nodded, confirming this was obvious. “And if you go and it’s something company-related, you may not know what you’re looking at or what trail to follow.”

She hesitated. “I should wait for Jack. Or the new Mountie, I guess. Jack will probably be headed back to his new post as soon as they return. Oh, goodness, can I really leave while Elizabeth and Julie are still out there?” Was she actually thinking about this?

Henry fidgeted. “Abigail, I can’t give you details, but Spurlock is all over this already. He sent those two officers after hours to make sure there were no more of your discoveries, and it was only by sheer luck I was able to stop it and get this window of opportunity. If there’s a trail out there, he’ll be on it fast.”

This was insane. But she had to admit she did want to go. That address was in her Peter’s files, and it was a woman’s name. Something was compelling her to talk to this woman herself and find out how she knew her son. Her mind raced. The fatigue of the Tolliver ordeal had somehow been forgotten as Henry’s impulsiveness re-energized her, and what was important now was no longer feeling bound and powerless.

She stood up. “And us?” she asked him, her look making it clear there was one right answer.

He opened his hands to her in surrender. “Strictly professional.”

***

Abigail left a note saying she was staying with Florence so that she would not be alone, and then leaving very early on a planned trip to get supplies for the café. It wasn’t the best plan, and she second-guessed herself twenty times before finally stabbing the page with an inky and definitive dot and heading out into the dark to meet Henry Gowen.

She’d changed into riding trousers but did not have a horse of her own, and she realized too late that this meant sharing Henry’s. She strapped provisions to the dark brown steed, still somewhat uneasy and avoiding Henry’s gaze for reasons that felt arbitrary. He mounted the horse first, then helped her step up. She swung her legs over in a straddle behind him. Abigail was grateful that her face was not visible when she wrapped her arms around him, feeling the solidness of his back through both of their coats. There was a strange intensity and intimacy in having to hold onto him this way, like leaning against him would mean something that sex had not.

He felt her awkwardly maneuvering around his body and tried to make conversation to break the tension. “Will it be strange that you’ve closed again?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’ve said I’m on a supply outing, and I have some pastries already made that can be sold in the morning if people get desperate. Besides, I didn’t get to prepare much for tomorrow -- I was a little tied up.”

Henry broke out into a laugh, and for a moment, it all felt almost normal. She smiled, and they took off into the night.


	7. Chapter 7

They rode for over two hours, stopping to rest for the night a little after 1 a.m. Abigail had found two large sleeping bags as she was packing to leave, torn for several minutes between the idea of Henry sleeping in her family’s bedrolls and the thought of him asking to share hers if he didn’t have his own. In the end, she had taken the one, reasoning that Henry Gowen could afford ten sleeping bags and could very well sleep on the ground if he wasn’t going to properly prepare for an overnight trip that was his idea in the first place. But of course he had, and all of her overthinking had just been a waste of her own time and sanity. It drove her crazy that he had that effect on her.

Henry started a fire for them, more deftly than she would have thought he knew how, society gentleman that he was. She scoffed audibly at her mental description and he looked up at her.

“What is it?”

She looked at him, his coats and hat removed, a broad figure leaning over the spreading flames in a cuffed white shirt, suspenders, and riding boots. “You almost look like a real frontiersman.”

He smirked. “I didn’t always have money, you know.”

“What did you have?”

He was silent a long time. “Not much.”

She sat down on a thick log laying near the fire, and looked at him intensely. “Tell me about it.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

He stared back at her, his eyes swirling with trepidation and sorrow. “I suppose I owe you that,” he said, coming to sit beside her.

“I grew up very poor. I know that’s not a new story. But I couldn’t ever be content that way. I wanted to have more, and so I worked hard to get out, to move up. Can’t unfortunately say that I always came by it honestly though. Always seemed to end up that if I wanted something I had to take it.”

Abigail nodded slowly, pointing a hard, contemplative stare at the fire. He closed his eyes, ashamed.

“I don’t mean it as an excuse. I regret the way that you’ve come to know me. That day, I was just… being brash, I suppose. Thinking like a businessman, the way I’ve done for so long.”

“And then later?” she asked.

He took in a deep, jagged breath. “I’ve wanted you a long time, Abigail. Not a lot of point in denying that.” His eyes matched his voice, tired and heavy. “I pretended that since you came to me that it was okay. And it was pretty clear you wouldn’t want anything to do with me otherwise. But it’s not how it should have happened. I’m very sorry for that.”

The crackling flames glowed on the side of her face as she turned to him, her demeanor somehow both firm and imploring.

“How should it have happened, Henry?”

He couldn’t find the words to answer, never dreaming, even now, that what he held in his heart could ever matter to her. She must have moved then, or maybe they both did, but some instinct drew them back together and then she was leaning into him, kissing him. It was deliberate and exploratory, like a tentative conversation. His hand came up to softly rest on the side of her neck, the light trail of his fingers making her sigh against him.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” he murmured.

“I’m not so sure I am,” she breathed. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

He took her face in his hands, giving her one more deep, slow kiss.

“You should know then,” he said. “You should know what happened.”

With great effort, he pulled away from her and stood, leaving her confused and cold.

“Henry?”

His hands were buried in his pockets and he shuffled the dirt beneath his feet as he considered how to start.

“Your husband and I didn’t get along,” he said finally.

“I’m aware,” Abigail said, not able to help herself as she tensed up, wondering where this was going.

“We’d had our disagreements in the past about things the company was doing to cut corners. mostly just practices that were making things inefficient or tougher for the miners – being too picky about the car loads, letting degraded tools go too long, stuff like that. I’d shrug him off, tell him to make it work. Around the holidays last year, he started having some concerns about the ventilation system in the mine.”

Henry stopped, his eyes floating down to the ground.

“He decided not to tell me, assuming I’d take it as another minor complaint,” he shrugged. “And he wanted proof, so he ordered an inspection done. He had that authority as the superintendent, but he did it while I was out of town in case I tried to stop him. That was in January. You’ve probably gathered that.”

Abigail was disquietingly still as she listened to the story. “And what did the inspection say?” she asked calmly.

Henry’s face twitched.

“The inspection… said the ventilation system was faulty.”

Both felt the stab of pain in their chest, even though both had known it was coming. Henry continued.

“He sent it straight to the chief operating officer, Mr. Reed. But the company never responded.”

Abigail nodded sadly.

“He waited a few weeks, but when he realized too much time was passing, he finally came to me with everything. Told me this was serious and I had to intervene. I dragged my feet on it… gave him hell for not telling me in the first place. I knew he was right though, so I wrote to them again.”

His breaths became short and shallow, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Abigail couldn’t breathe at all, couldn’t blink. It was like she was back there, that day, waiting, waiting to see if her family would come out of the mine.

“I got the rejection the morning of the explosion.”

The words came hard and abrupt like a punch to the gut. Abigail curled up, clutching all of the heartache inside of her. But for Henry, everything he had bottled up about that day suddenly roared out of him. Angry tears flew from his face as he lashed out, punching at tree bark and tearing open his knuckles. He kicked and pounded at the dirt, cursing himself and fate.

When his rage brought no answers and found no more outlets, he finally collapsed on his knees in front of her, floating helplessly between frustration and remorse. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he said.

She pulled him toward her chest, letting him bury his tears against her while she rocked with her own grief. Instinctively she kissed at his temple and forehead, wanting to ease their shared anguish. He lifted his head and moved to wipe her tears with his thumb, feeling unworthy of her comfort in the face of everything she had endured. They searched each other’s glistening eyes, looking for some sort of answer, a way to go back, something to make it okay, but there was never going to be that. All they had was this connection and this urge to move forward and fight, and to try to feel something else, and they crashed into each other, frantically chasing that bliss of forgetting that they knew the other could give them.

His scratched and bleeding hand held at her cheek as they kissed, desperate and vulnerable. She could taste the salt of their tears whenever she opened to him again, and she tugged his shirt, pulling him harder against her. Small, aching sounds escaped them both and they became more insistent, trying somehow to soothe their distress by absorbing the sounds of it.

Abigail finally broke away and began to remove her blouse. Henry did not hesitate to respond to her cues, working at his shirt. As soon as they could, they returned to each other, dreading any idle moment where the thought of their losses and regrets could return.

He forced her legs apart with his body and wrapped his arms around her waist. Her legs automatically rose up to his hips, and she crossed herself around him, her heels digging into his back as he gripped the contours of her ass to lift her with him as he stood. Once he had her, he charged forward, slamming her back against a tree. His mouth attacked her neck as he rubbed against her, the friction of his impatient need alternating with the rough scraping of the dirty bark against her back, threatening to ruin yet another piece of clothing.

She slipped the shoulder strap of her underclothes down and exposed her breast, abandoning any subtlety in her hunger to be soothed. He answered the silent demand immediately, taking her nipple into his mouth and softly sucking, running his tongue around the deep-pink edges. Her eyes closed and she moaned loudly, snaking a hand through his hair to hold him there a little longer.

She wanted just this, just for a little longer – to not be a widow, or a victim, or to worry about what was going to happen next. Just to feel this.

She pulled him back up to her lips, running her tongue deliberately along his, trying to draw out the moments. But she was unable to calm the throbbing between her legs, growing nearly unbearable as the thick shape of him became more evident, sliding across her hidden sensitive core. He hummed her name against her lips, and even though it didn’t sound like a question, she knew he was asking.

“Yes. Please,” she said.

He lifted her again and there was a moment where she missed the coarse stinging in her back until he pressed her down onto his bedroll and she felt a comfort in the gravity again. He slowly pulled her remaining clothes down and discarded them, then stripped himself of his bottom layers. She was shivering from the cold and loss of contact, and began to grasp at his chest, almost pawing at him, her nails tickling the silver wisps of hair. He slid back over her as she wished, holding all the hot, hard parts of him against her trembling skin, and she finally seemed to exhale.

He eased into her until the relief of finally being joined again emanated audibly from both of them. She was surprised by how much she loved the way his body covered hers, the feeling of being crushed between him and the ground as he filled her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer as they buried themselves in each other.

He reached for the other folded blankets nearby, shoving them underneath her so he could angle himself down as he drove into her. The effect came over her like a thunderbolt, splitting her mind from her body until she was all urges. She cried out as she ground into him, taking control of their motion to massage the aching spot he had excited. He held firm against her as her muscles tightened, rolling and squeezing around the length of his cock. The sound of his panting against her neck exhilarated her, knowing how close he was getting as he felt her own edging climax. When his hand came down to pinch at her nipple, they both unraveled, and the power of her orgasm echoed out into the woods.

When Henry managed to rise from where he was buried in her hair, he saw Abigail’s eyes half-closed, and it didn’t seem right, somehow, to kiss her. He slid himself out of her and gently turned them both so that her smooth bare back was flush against his chest. Heat flowed from each of them, with only the remnants of his cum coolly tickling at her skin.

He unfolded the blankets and bag over their nakedness. Curling his arm around her in a strong, protective embrace, he ventured one light kiss on her shoulder before laying his head down behind her. Woodland insects interjected their sounds into the peace of the night, but Abigail and Henry both drifted off to an easier sleep than either had known in months.

***

They rose before the sun, once the fire died out. The morning proceeded awkwardly as Henry offered her his tooth powder and went to relieve himself while Abigail did the same and covered back up. The skin on her back felt shredded and burned as she slipped into the clothes, and her stomach flipped as she retrieved her unused bedroll. She felt heat rise in her face, remembering the uninhibited way she’d bucked against him, purely chasing her own climax, until she finally felt the violent breaking apart of her anticipation into an incredible release.

She didn’t know quite what to make of the sexual part of their relationship, if that was even the word she should use. Sometimes she felt as though she had somehow seduced and entranced him, that he was at her command and wanted only to serve her. Other times she felt she was at his mercy, lit aflame at his touch, a slave to the pleasure he gave her.

And to what else? Was she still beholden to the control he had over her life, or over all of their lives in Coal Valley? The times that he seemed to care for her and profess a desire to protect her – did it make a difference in any of this? And she still had so many questions about the mine.

Bundled back up, Henry again helped her climb onto the horse, this time swinging himself up behind her, blocking her from the wind at their backs. His arms came around her to take the reins and the unease she’d felt as they set off yesterday returned.

“Henry?” she said as the horse began its slow gait back out to the road. “What’s different now?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“If you know all of this about the Company, why have you been going along with it?”

Henry took in a deep shameful breath. “Because getting rid of me is their Plan B.” He paused for Abigail’s reaction but continued when her silence seemed to prompt him for more. “They’ve scapegoated me before, when they were faced with racketeering charges. That’s why I was transferred to Coal Valley from Hamilton. It’s as I told you - they’re not above ruining their own employees, loyal or not. But loyal still serves you a hair bit better. They’ve been wary of me blowing the whistle since that letter, so I’ve done everything I can to play along until I can get my hands on the proof I need.”

“I don’t understand. Wouldn’t it be better to quit? Get away from them and work with the police?”

“Well, quitting doesn’t mean you won’t still be ruined, that’s one. What I told you last night, about growing up poor… it’s not just a thing in my past. Making up for that has been a big part of what my life has been about. I can hate that about myself, and I’m sure you do right now, but it’s made it a lot harder to walk away. And the company would make damn sure I couldn’t get another job in this industry or any other that wasn’t sweeping the floors in Mr. Yost’s grocery.”

Abigail’s face twisted into a wry smirk that he couldn’t see. “You’re not being honest, Henry.”

“Oh?”

“What you said is true, that’s not what I mean. But you’re leaving out the part where you like the power.”

Henry became terribly quiet behind her, the sound of the horse’s steps beating away in the moments of silence.

“Yes,” he finally said. “It’s not something given up easily. And right now, it’s also the best thing I have to offer you.”

She hung her head, unsure how to feel about this.

“That won’t last either though. They don’t like how much I’ve been looking out for the widows, and you in particular. That’s part of why I’ve been acting so aggressive when I come to the café with the officers, and why I had to come to confront you and take back the file.”  
  
Abigail was quiet, still occasionally wary of whether she was somehow playing into his hands. “So what’s changed? Why run away now?”

She was taken aback when the reply came: “Adam Miller.”

“The surviving miner? What do you mean?”

“It’s an interesting thing,” Henry said sadly. “Men die in mines. Men die in wars. They die from accidents and outlaws, or if not that, then tuberculosis or pneumonia. And all of them often too young, especially out here. It’s going to sound terrible, but sometimes it just becomes a fact to you. But to see Adam, and how things are for him now. To think about how the company didn’t tell me, how we didn’t help him before he came back, and couldn’t help him afterward because of how traumatic those memories were... a man shouldn’t live like that. And men shouldn’t die like that.”

Abigail felt him pause, emotional, choosing his words carefully.

“I can’t continue to be in a position where I’m hurting people to protect myself.”

They were under the cover of tall trees, dewy green and yellow leaves hiding the earliest glimpse of purple haloing the land to the east. Abigail tightened her legs to bring the horse to a stop. She turned to the man behind her, confusion and despair bared plainly on his face. She laid a hand on his cheek and kissed him softly. Once again she felt something completely irrational welling up inside of her, an urge to tell him that she would protect him. Instead, she rubbed a thumb just above the pink and red knuckles of his damaged hand and squeezed her fingers into his palm.

“We’d better hurry so we can get back,” she said. “Our excuses won’t hold that long.”


	8. Chapter 8

Elizabeth hadn’t thought much about Abigail’s note when she’d returned in the middle of the night, still terrified by her encounter with the Tolliver Gang and desperately relieved to see Jack again. She knew the gang had all been captured, so was not overly concerned about Abigail’s well-being and was glad her friend had a place to go and not be alone. As angry as she was with Julie, Elizabeth at least had her for company or she would have done the same thing.

In the morning, though tempted to keep the café closed, she sold the few pies and scones that had been left along with some rather gritty coffee she’d had to make herself. She apologized for Abigail’s absence, but mostly answered questions about her ordeal and smiled while some of the women cooed and gasped about how lucky she was that Jack had been intercepted.

Needing to make her way to school, even in this condition – one of the many drawbacks of working in a one-room schoolhouse, or school-saloon, as it were – she closed up breakfast a bit early, rushing to clean up. She opened up cabinets one by one to find where things went, noting curiously that they all seemed to be quite well-stocked. Perhaps Abigail was trying out some new ingredients, something it was important to get fresh, or something available in limited quantities, thus the inability to move the errand? Elizabeth knew very little about running a café, but it troubled her all the same. Upstairs, after shooting an annoyed look toward the bedroom where her sister was still snoring, she looked around and saw that Abigail did seem to have packed for an expected outing, and so did her best to push off the worry and prepare her mind for teaching that morning.

***

Once they caught sight of 49th Street, Henry slowed the horse’s canter. They turned onto the street and found it was more of an alley, lined with tenement homes. Children in ill-fitting, soot-covered clothing ran nearby, shouting happily. Abigail and Henry were used to this sort of appearance, coming from a coal town, but here it was almost certainly the result of the children laboring as chimney sweeps. Henry hesitated at first about tying the horse up outside the building marked 182, but Abigail gave him a withering look and he did not really have a choice.

He went in ahead of her, a hand reached out behind him to halt her movement as he eyed the stairs, and she rolled her eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go ahead and announce you to the peasants, Mr. Gowen?” she asked in a faux-haughty tone.

He stopped and looked back at her, ashamed. “You’re right. I’m sorry, you’ve just… been through a lot recently.”

She gave him a half-smile. “I appreciate the thought. But I am starting to think a little ‘ruining’ might be good for you,” she cracked.

“I’ll take that under advisement, Mrs. Stanton,” he smirked back, tipping his hat to her playfully.

“Mrs. Stanton?”

They turned to see that a young girl had come in the open doorway behind them. She was just about her Peter’s age, Abigail thought, and beautiful, her ivory hands poking out under a tattered shawl to clutch a basket of days-old food from the market.

“Yes, I’m Abigail Stanton,” Abigail confirmed cautiously. “Are you Clara Blackwood?”

The girl was trembling. “Yes. I mean… no. It’s actually… it’s Stanton.”

Abigail stared at her, confused.

“I’m Clara Stanton.”

***

Clara led them up to the small room, bustling about to tidy up and apologize and offer them tea, feeling disgraced and inadequate as she tried to impress her shocked mother-in-law.

“I assure you, Mrs. Stanton, these are certainly not the circumstances in which I wanted to meet you.”

“That’s quite alright, Clara. We are the ones who’ve intruded on you,” she said, taking pity on the poor girl while she herself felt out of place.

“Please allow us to apologize,” Henry offered graciously, “And also to correct my lack of manners in failing to introduce myself. Henry Gowen,” he said, with a slight bow of his head.

Clara’s mouth fell open and she looked nervously back and forth between the two visitors.

“Mr. Gowen? From the mining company?” she asked, her voice shaking.

Abigail laid a hand on Clara’s shoulder. “It’s alright. There’s a lot to talk about. Please forget the tea and let’s sit down.”

It began with how she met Peter, on one of his trips for supplies. For reasons Clara didn’t go into, she wasn’t able to leave home much, but she cherished Peter’s visits, and they grew to love each other very quickly, as infrequent as their time together was.

“Any time I was with Peter, nothing could be wrong. I just looked forward to being his wife, and when we finally were married, it was the greatest happiness, more than I could have dreamed. He was everything to me.”

Abigail’s eyes began to tear up as she listened.

“Oh, I must sound awful,” Clara cried. “Going on as though you don’t know how much was lost that day. And having kept this secret from you all this time.”

Abigail smiled comfortingly. “I am happy that you loved him, Clara. That’s all a mother wants. I just don’t understand why he didn’t tell me,” she wondered, shaking her head.

Clara looked down sheepishly at her hands. “He was afraid you would think we were too young. We planned to tell you very soon, but we were married only one day before…” she trailed off, choked up.

“I’ve thought about that a lot,” Abigail said softly. “How Peter was out of town just the day before the accident. Just one more day… and things would be different now.”

So very many things, she thought, looking almost reflexively at Henry. She wouldn’t have come here, not like this, if she still had Noah and Peter. She would have been in her family home, perhaps still going through Peter’s things, but this time it would be to find something Clara could give to Abigail’s grandchild. She would still be married, living a settled and peaceful life. She would not own a café. She would never have been a coal miner. She would not have a single notion about what it was like to have Henry Gowen as a lover, and would not have spent the last day trying to understand whether that’s what he really was or should be.

Whatever had changed in her, whatever was going on with her and Henry, she would trade it to have her son back – that went utterly without saying. But she couldn’t have her son back, and even as she accepted that, her grief still asked why. A hundred times, over and over since the accident it had whispered the question to her. And now with Clara’s tear-stained face in front of her, it pleaded again. Why, why, why? She reached out and squeezed the other woman’s hand, needing just as much comfort as she did. Her tears flowed, silent and sad, aching in that moment for the time before her life had become so tragically complicated.

“I’m glad that you found me, Mrs. Stanton,” Clara said, breaking into the weighty silence. “Though… I apologize, and I don’t mean to be rude… I’m not sure I understand why you’ve come.” She glanced nervously at Henry. “Why you’ve come here together.”

Abigail signaled for Henry to explain, and he cleared his throat.

“Mrs. Stanton, we’re hoping you can help us,” he said, directing what he hoped was a reassuring tone to the young widow. “Peter’s father Noah was my superintendent, and he had a mine inspection done in January of this year. Peter had a record of all the inspection reports besides that one. We found a note with your address in its place - that’s how we knew to look for you. Do you know anything about that report?” he asked, overly cognizant of sounding like he was interrogating her.

Clara shifted uncomfortably, and seemed to take particular notice of Henry’s battered knuckles.

“Clara?” Abigail asked tentatively.

“Mr. Gowen,” Clara said, trembling, “I have no intention of making trouble for the company. My husband is dead and I haven’t asked for his pension --”

“Mrs. Stanton, forgive me for interrupting, but I think you misunderstand. Though I do work for Pacific Northwest, I’m here to find evidence against them. Mrs. Stanton and I,” he nodded at Abigail, “are working together because the company plans to blame Peter’s father. Since that inspection report says that the ventilation system was faulty, the company – officers above me – have falsified a different report saying it was safe. They’re going to claim they had no knowledge of any issues, and that Noah acted negligently that day, causing the accident.”

“But that’s not true!” Clara cried in horror. “How can they do this?”

“We’re trying to stop it,” Abigail told her. “If you have that original report, it would go a long way to proving wrongdoing, and we could go after the company for the unsafe conditions that led to the men’s deaths.”

The girl remained guarded. “Mr. Stanton told Peter he was afraid the company would come after him. That there were people who wouldn’t mind shutting him up.”

Henry nodded, his eyes widening in agreement and pity. “I wish I could tell you that wasn’t a possibility, Mrs. Stanton. Unfortunately there’s a lot of money on the line and Pacific Northwest doesn’t like losing. But we’ll keep that report, and you, as safe as we can. Everything will be given to the Mounties in Coal Valley as soon as we get back. Which, I’m sorry to say, we do need to do very soon.”

Clara again looked from one to the other, trying to make up her mind. Abigail understood, still feeling that way herself, and proposed another approach.

“How about this? If you do have the report,” she said pointedly, “you can bring it to Coal Valley yourself, straight to the Mounties. I can give you money for the stagecoach. And this way you and I will get to talk some more, and I can show you Peter’s home” – her heart fluttered a little – “his hometown, and his things.”

A hopeful look was replaced with one of apprehension. “I do want to help. But I’m not sure… I have to be back at work in two days.” Clara was glancing at Henry to see if he had any reaction, but he was implacable.

“Take the next stage you can today, while it’s light,” Abigail said. “We’ll ride on ahead and make sure you catch up, and that you get back on your way tomorrow.”

Worry and ambivalence shone through Clara’s round eyes, and she bit at her lip. Abigail laid a hand on her daughter-in-law’s knee. “This is a lot to take in at once. I feel that way too. But I think this is our chance to fight.” Henry nodded too, beside her. Abigail reached into a small purse she’d brought up with her and handed Clara some folded bills. “I won’t hear a word about the money. And I hope I’ll see you very soon.”

She stood and Clara and Henry stood with her. She gave Peter’s beautiful bride a kiss on the cheek, and Henry bowed his head again as they took their leave. Clara quietly watched them go, still shaken.

In the foyer of the building, Henry stopped Abigail again. Looking around quickly to make sure no one was around this time, he took her hand.

“Are you okay?” he asked. It was the comfort he’d wanted to offer her upstairs but couldn’t, for a number of reasons. The gesture could only give her so much peace though, warming her body but not calming her mind. She kept her hand with his, let his fingers rub against hers. She wanted to tell him that this was all so overwhelming. That all the wounds she’d thought had started to heal after the accident were ripping back open. That it seemed like she’d never actually known her son or her husband at all. That she couldn’t believe she had taken off on this scandalous trip with him that might not even matter. That her nerves hadn’t even fully recovered from being tied up and alone just hours ago. That she didn’t know what she was thinking from one moment to the next. That her body was still ravaged from how he’d taken her this morning and it felt somehow like that made her his, and how much she hated that and how much she loved it and how she wished she’d never ever walked into that office.

But what she said was, “I’m fine.”

Henry’s flashed a look of concern, chilled by the distance of her answer. She was smiling, but it seemed fake, a display of politeness. Had he ever made her really smile though, to know for sure? The question ate at him.

“We need to get going,” she said, pulling her hand away.

***

At lunch, Elizabeth made her way back to the café, mostly to again apologize for Abigail’s absence and see what she could scrounge up for any of the children who came by. Julie was little help, trying often to steal what was available for herself. (“I’ve been through a terribly traumatic experience, sister!” As though Elizabeth hadn’t been just as kidnapped.) Luckily, her favorite Mountie was still in town to interrupt her frustration, and she relaxed as she saw the red serge coming nearer to the café.

Jack moved up to where she was standing outside and tipped his hat. He looked at her with sympathy. “How are you doing?” he asked.

“Are you asking because of last night, or because you don’t know when you’ll need to leave again?” she countered with a raised eyebrow. Jack pursed his lips. “I’m sorry, I meant that a bit more playfully than it came out.”

“Whatever happens now, I’m glad I was here.” Silent longing thickened the space between them and Jack looked as though he might reach out to her, but rough footsteps behind him jarred them both from the moment.

“Mr. Spurlock,” Jack bit out, annoyed at the man’s presence on several accounts. He did, however, have the grace to thank the security officer for the use of his team in rounding up the Tolliver Gang. Spurlock only grunted, but the gruff sound somehow made it clear that he was unhappy with the deputizing of his men in his absence. Elizabeth held her own gratitude after that, throwing a wide stare at Jack.

Spurlock eyed the Closed sign on the door. “Is Henry here?” he asked impatiently.

Elizabeth grew even more confused at this intrusion. “Henry Gowen? No… why?”

“Has he been here?” he continued, ignoring her question.

“I’ve only just gotten to the café myself, so I can’t say for sure,” she answered, becoming a bit nervous. “I didn’t see him this morning for breakfast, and the café has been closed all day with Abigail away on business.”

Jack interjected, also curious about this line of inquiry. “Is Henry missing, Mr. Spurlock? Is there a reason he’d be at the café?”

Mr. Spurlock, several inches taller than Jack, loomed over them purposefully. “This is a company café. Mrs. Stanton ought not forget that.”

Jack gritted his teeth as the man walked away. Elizabeth leaned closer to him, shaken by the interaction. “Jack, what was that?”

“That was smart,” the Mountie said. “Menacing enough that Abigail can take it as a warning, but too vague for me to do anything about it. Yet.” He surveyed the main road, contemplating the next move. “You said Abigail stayed with Mrs. Blakeley last night?”

“Yes, that’s what her note said. Jack, do you think Mr. Gowen’s done something?”

“If he has, Mr. Spurlock doesn’t seem to know about it.” They watched as the security officer mounted his horse and took off, heading away from town. Jack’s senses flared – there was something troubling about all of this. “I’m going to speak with Florence. I’ll be back,” he said, leaving a worried Elizabeth behind once again.

***

Abigail and Henry talked little as they rode, needing to take a less leisurely pace back toward Coal Valley now that things had been set in motion. Abigail was sure Clara had decided to follow them, even though she had no way of knowing, but Henry seemed less at ease with having left Clara in possession of the document and to her own devices. Abigail told herself that made sense – he was likely going to be out of a job soon, and still needed to find an excuse for his absence – but there was a long-held distrust of Henry Gowen that continued to color her thoughts. One that, for some reason, she only seemed to remember when his hands weren’t on her. She cursed herself and all the conflict he’d brought into her life. God, how was she going to explain any of this?

The horse slowed underneath her, no longer matching the racing of her thoughts, and her head buzzed like it was raised out of a dream.

“What’s going on?” she asked with a start.

Henry’s face broke into an amused smile behind her. “Nothing, I just thought we could use a break, have a bit of lunch. Perhaps the other Mrs. Stanton will catch up as well.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said hesitantly. “We’ve been gone so long already.” She looked behind them. She _had_ said she’d keep an eye out for the stage. And she _was_ hungry. “I guess we can see what’s left to eat.”

She was surprised when Henry let go of the reins and wrapped his arms completely around her waist.

“I’m sure I can find something,” he said quietly, bending to lay soft kisses on her neck.

 _Fuck_. How did it always feel so good? Her eyes fell shut and she squirmed against the saddle, silently begging him for more. She wanted his hand to come down, where she was hot, but he moved up, squeezing at her breasts.

“I want you slow,” he breathed in her ear, and she felt the flood inside her spread.

But the hoofbeats came fast toward them, and he was there nearly before they could move. Henry’s hands flew back to his sides as the navy jacket came into view.

“Mr. Spurlock,” he greeted the officer. “What excellent timing.”

***

Slow.

That’s what he’d said.

That’s how it felt.

Slow motion as he dismounted the horse. Slow motion as his face stretched into an easy grin. The sound of her breathing being slowly replaced by the sound of her heartbeat, growing louder as everything else retreated. Pounding like it was right inside her throat. Like it was right where he had been. Like he’d always been slowly leading her right here.


	9. Chapter 9

Henry jumped down from the horse, boots thumping onto the dirt road. He stretched his fingers from their hold on the reins, curling them in and out with a deep invigorating breath. His demeanor was nonchalant as he ambled forward, but his temples were pulsing with fear and vigilance as he assessed his options.

“What brings you out this way?” Henry asked the stoic security officer.

Mr. Spurlock had taken his gun with him and was displaying it plainly. Henry had quickly weighed the risk of movement against the appearance of being afraid of the confrontation, and decided that drawing attention away from Abigail was the priority. He glanced back at her. She sat silent and stubborn, fire in her face, but he could see from her eyes that she was frightened. That would work in his favor.

Spurlock tipped his head down warily. “Might ask you the same.”

“I was just trying to explain to Mrs. Stanton here that she might benefit from being a bit less inquisitive and a bit more friendly.”

Henry spoke with a suggestive tone that recalled his veiled proposition to her on that first day, almost two months ago now. Thoughts of time stirred for him in the echo, and panic churned inside his stomach. Abigail’s face remained hard and unmoving, her eyes cast downward. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, whether she was playing along or truly conflicted.

“Seems a little far to travel,” Mr. Spurlock said.

Henry crooked his lips into a smirk. “Well, we wouldn’t want anything to damage our reputations in Coal Valley. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Stanton?”

Spurlock turned his languid gaze toward Abigail, who had shifted her own sideways look toward Henry. Wind rustled the woods around them as each one of them watched another, waiting to see how the scale would tip.

“Didn’t see you this morning,” Spurlock noted tersely. “This little ride of yours start last night?”

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting, Mr. Spurlock,” Abigail finally spoke up fiercely. “But I don’t appreciate it.”

Henry began to sweat. He tried to keep his wits about him and match her offense, channeling that domineering version of himself that did not abide insolence.

“What the lady means to say is that’s not your business, Mr. Spurlock, and I’ll thank you not to question my activities.”

He felt the air change instantly. An amused, malicious smile formed on Spurlock’s face, and Henry’s body filled with dread. _Wrong move,_ he realized _. That was the wrong move_. He hadn’t had the advantage since his feet had hit the ground.

“You know what I think I will question, _Mister_ Gowen,” the officer said, mocking him with the word, “is why all those files my men left for you to take care of last night, didn’t seem to get taken care of.”

There was no need to give an answer; the conversation was already over. They knew the other’s mind, and they both knew what was going to happen. He wished he could look at her now. He wished he could get one more look at her before it happened.

Spurlock’s hand dropped to his holster. Henry’s hand reached around to his back. The guns came up and their fingers squeezed the triggers. It was only a second.

But a second was all she needed.

Abigail kicked the horse forward and flung her hand out, knocking Spurlock’s arm down to the left. The bullet hit the ground near Henry’s feet, ricocheting off a rock with a pop. Henry’s bullet, aiming for where Spurlock’s hand had been, just barely missed Abigail’s arm, whizzing out into the trees. Henry shouted her name, running toward the horse.

The interference had only intensified Spurlock’s anger and he raised the gun up again. Abigail pulled at his arm, struggling mightily against the large man’s strength as she balanced in the saddle and fought him for the weapon. She forced his hand upward as he let out another shot, cracking it into the sky. Abigail ducked instinctively at the sound, giving Spurlock the opportunity to shift his weight over her, throwing her off of him and onto the ground.

Henry hadn’t wanted to take another shot while Abigail was still so close, and now he was kneeling next to her, startled and jostled as she’d fallen, the gun knocked from his hand. He wouldn’t be quick enough. He held Abigail against his chest. He wished he could twist her into him and hide her face there, as though she’d somehow be protected if she couldn’t see the end. But she stared out in shock, wide-eyed and terrified at the man who was once again positioning his gun in their direction. The hand was dealt now, and there was only one more option.

“Stop! Wait!” Henry yelled. Spurlock raised an eyebrow but didn’t shoot. With that slight reprieve, Henry forced himself to speak more steadily. “None of this necessary. Any injuries or _accidents_ are just going to look suspicious for the company. Their problem is with me, and I will go willingly—“

“Henry, no!” Abigail shouted, prompting a flash of anger from the officer that quieted her.

“It’s alright, Abigail,” he answered firmly. “I will go with you,” he continued to Spurlock, “but Mrs. Stanton need not be harmed.”

Spurlock rubbed a thumb back and forth over the grip of the gun, taunting them from where he sat above them. He seemed to consider the compromise for a moment. Another slow smile formed as he ran his eyes over Abigail’s shuddering body. “You’re right, Henry. No need to harm a perfectly good woman,” he said.

Abigail squeezed her eyes shut and turned away. Henry gritted his teeth. Spurlock moved his other hand underneath the trigger and aimed.

“But I imagine you’ll both be far more amenable if I do.”

“ _Drop your weapon!”_

Spurlock’s head shot back over his shoulder to where the two constables were charging toward him, their guns cocked and ready.

Abigail grabbed Henry’s gun from the ground and held it in front of her, pointing it with shaking hands at Spurlock. Henry felt a surge of pride. The security officer looked back and forth like a trapped animal and finally dropped his gun, defeated.

O’Reilly held his weapon trained on Spurlock while Jack ran to the two traumatized figures on the ground. Squatting down, he carefully took the gun from Abigail’s hand and she threw herself around his neck, thanking him for showing up. A stab of jealousy struck Henry even though he knew it was completely unwarranted, and that the man had saved both of their lives.

“How did you find us?” Abigail asked.

Jack motioned his head up to where O’Reilly was tying Spurlock’s hands. “Henry’s man came around looking for him. When Eiizabeth and I realized you were both gone, I asked Florence about your note. Then I tracked Mr. Spurlock out of town.” Jack threw a look at Henry then, and Henry knew the Mountie’s real suspicion was that he was responsible for Abigail being gone in the first place. He didn’t respond to the tacit question, but began to help Abigail up to a standing position. She winced in pain and Jack and Henry both put a hand on her back to steady her. Henry could feel Jack’s eyes jump to him again.

“We’ll get the doctor for you as soon as we get back to town,” Jack nodded firmly to Abigail. “And Henry? Any injuries?”

“No, Mr. Spurlock wasn’t able to get a good shot in, thanks to Mrs. Stanton,” he smiled at her. “And you,” he said, putting out his hand to the Mountie. Jack took it, noting the scraped-up skin. Henry followed his gaze. “Must’ve happened on the way down,” Henry shrugged, an obvious lie given the fresh pink of the abrasions had already begun to fade. “Nothing to worry about though.”

“This your gun?” Jack asked him, and he nodded. “I’m going to hold on to this for a bit, if you don’t mind,” he said, though it clearly didn’t matter if Henry did mind. “Going to need to ask you both some questions as we head back.”

A rumbling behind them began to pull their attention, and Henry and Abigail shared a hopeful look as it grew louder. Abigail ran out into the road, waving her hands at the stagecoach. Clara’s head appeared through the side window, confused and concerned at the sight.

“Mrs. Stanton?” she called. “What’s going on?”

The carriage slowed to a stop and Henry smiled, turning back to Jack. “What you want is in that stagecoach,” he said. “Evidence. Against the company.”

Jack’s eyes widened, moving between Henry and Clara. He settled darkly on Henry. “You follow Constable O’Reilly into town while I get Mrs. Stanton and this traveler sorted out. Into town and nowhere else. This conversation isn’t over.” The words left no room for argument and Jack hastily signaled to O’Reilly to guide Henry back with him and Spurlock while he went to investigate.

In that moment, Henry began to understand just how much his influence in Coal Valley was about to diminish.

***

The stagecoach had quickly caught up, and Constable O’Reilly held the two men off to the side of the road to let them pass, Jack riding ahead of the women. Abigail had locked onto Henry’s eyes from inside the carriage, looking both tired and nervous. Henry had spoken little on the way into town after that, running over in his mind what he would say to her when they got back.

When Henry finally came into view of the town center, he saw that Jack and the doctor were just leaving Abigail’s. He called out to Jack, not eager to be questioned but wanting to make sure he could talk with Abigail as soon as possible.

Jack waited, not invitingly, as Henry dismounted.

“Did Mrs. Stanton give you the report? Is she alright?”

“The younger Mrs. Stanton did, yes. Got her a room at the saloon and will need to talk with her more when she’s rested. It will be valuable, Henry, if it is what you say it is.”

“Good to hear. We went through enough to get it. And Abigail?”

“Doctor said her back got a little scraped up from the fall, but nothing serious. She’s still a bit shaken though.”

“She’s had a rough couple of days,” Henry nodded.

“Want to tell me more about that?”

Henry hesitated, unsure what Abigail might have already said, but he was used to talking himself out of things. He motioned for Jack to follow him as he took his horse back to the stables. “Well, the Tolliver Gang, of course. Finding out about the faulty system and the threats the company is making to her about her late husband, reliving that tragedy. Then we had a long ride up to Mayerthorpe, where she found a daughter-in-law she didn’t know she had – not the easiest thing to take in under normal circumstances. And then… well, you know the rest.”

“And you went in the middle of the night so Spurlock wouldn’t find out. After you tipped Abigail off to the report.”

“Is any of that a crime, Constable?” Henry asked a little cheekily.

Jack stopped walking and took in an exasperated breath. “Look, Henry, I don’t know how or why Abigail found herself mixed up with you and this ill-advised pursuit. She insists it was her idea to have you escort her there, but we both know that isn’t true. If you really are working to take down the mining company, then I’m glad to have you on our side, but I’m not willing to trust you as easily as she is.”

Henry smirked, reactive by his nature to being challenged. “You’ve made that clear. But if you’d like to turn back to the more significant matter here, I do plan to give you my full account of the company’s dealings for the investigation. Or will I be discussing it with Mr. O’Reilly?”

Jack shot his own smirk right back. “I guess we’ll see. In the meantime, I expect you won’t be leaving town again anytime soon, Mr. Gowen.”

***

It was close to an hour later when Henry returned after getting his horse settled and himself cleaned up. Far from exhausted, or maybe overly so, the events of the day spurred him on impatiently into action. His face fell when he saw the café sign still turned to Closed, though it should not have been surprising. He went around to the back of the building and saw, luckily, that Elizabeth and her sister were leaving. He didn’t think that Miss Thatcher trusted him any more than her Mountie acquaintance did though, so he stayed out of sight until they’d turned, dashing behind them to catch the door before it closed.

Abigail was standing at the prep table, her back to him. “I didn’t expect you quite so soon, Henry,” she said without turning around.

He smiled behind her. “You should be resting.”

“I promised Elizabeth I would go back to bed after I got ready for tomorrow. Can’t afford to lose another day.”

“Need some help?”

“Elizabeth offered too, but like I told her, I just want a little bit of time by myself,” Abigail said shortly. He could see that her hands were shaking as she worked, and he wasn’t sure if he should go to her or go away. He shuffled his feet against the floor, trying to decide, and Abigail took pity on him, finally turning to face him.

“Relax, Henry. I also sent her away because I knew we’d need to talk.”

Henry was hopeful as he approached her. “Good, because I think there’s a lot to say. Abigail—”

But she cut him off. “There’s something that’s been on my mind ever since talking with Clara on the way back,” she said. “All three of you, including Peter… you all knew the mine wasn’t safe, but you kept allowing the men in there and kept them working. Why did you do that?”

It wasn’t at all the conversation he’d expected, but it suddenly seemed such an obvious question that it was strange it hadn’t been asked before. He considered his answer for a long time. He didn’t want to hurt her, not after everything else today, but he didn’t want to lie to her either.

“Noah was brilliant at his job. He knew the systems inside and out. He had come up with workarounds for the flaws – patches and backup plans while we waited to see if the company would take it seriously. He didn’t tell me outright but I think he was also about to leave, and was waiting to blow the whistle until he was outside the company. Even if that was the case, though, I know he would never have led his son and the other men in there if he’d known. He just thought…” he stopped, shaking his head. “We just thought there was more time.”

Abigail’s eyes fell closed and she inhaled deeply to stop herself from crying. She walked to one of the café tables to sit down and think, putting her hands over her flushed face, but Henry followed her like she would disappear if he didn’t.

“I’m sorry, Abigail. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. But this is exactly why I’m here. We almost died today. I keep thinking there’s time and there isn’t. I want you to marry me.”

“Oh god, Henry, not now. Please.” She buried her head in her hands.

He was undeterred as he sat across from her. “Maybe this is the wrong moment to do this, but you’re what I want, Abigail. I can wait if that’s what you need, but I wanted you to know my intentions.”

“Isn’t that what got us into this mess, Henry? That it’s always about what you want?” she blurted out, raising her eyes in a hot glare. “Do you know what people are going to think of me now? Coming back from this trip with you?”

“I can make this honest, Abigail, that’s what I’m telling you.”

“What you’re telling me is that I need to sleep with you to keep this secret too.”

A stunned and bitter silence hung between them. Abigail was losing her nerve now, but pushed herself to finish what she needed to say. “I know what I’ve said to you, Henry, and what I’ve done with you. I take some responsibility for how you feel. But it needs to stop. I lost my family in that mine, and then I lost my home. I’ve found out my son and husband and… everyone, was lying to me for months. My reputation has been threatened, my life has been threatened, my business has been threatened. And I’m probably going to have to testify about all of this, figure out how to explain everything in front of the whole town. My life with you in it, Henry… it’s too much. Nothing makes sense anymore.” She shook her head, like she knew it wasn’t coming out right. “I know I shouldn’t blame you for all of it, but you’re the only one left.”

“Everything’s going to be different now, I swear,” he pleaded lamely, grabbing her hand. “Give me a chance to go through this with you--“

“Henry, please just go. I need to move on from this. Please.”

The past two days had broken her, and now he was broken too. He had nothing left.

The door opened behind them and Julie and Elizabeth came in, stopping short when they saw Henry there at the table. Abigail pulled her hand from his, and wouldn’t look at any of them.

“I’m sorry,” Julie said, glancing uncertainly at Elizabeth, “I forgot my shawl.”

“Abigail, is everything okay?” Elizabeth said warily.

“Yes, Elizabeth, thank you,” Abigail said, wiping her face. “Mr. Gowen was just leaving.”

The words were cold, blowing through him like wind through bones. So that was it. He’d spent his whole life at a distance, guarding against hurt just like this. Maybe he’d been right all along. Or maybe ending up here, helplessly steeped in this pain, was entirely what he deserved. He didn’t know which one it was. He didn’t know anything. The best he could do right now was withdraw with some semblance of dignity.

He stood and tipped his hat to the Thatcher sisters. “I’m glad to see you back safe,” he said curtly, then left through the front door.

***

Back in his office, Henry wrote a letter of resignation, wanting at least the symbolism of it before he was fired -- one thing ostensibly on his own terms. The constables didn’t have a warrant yet for the rest of the files, but O’Reilly had begun milling around outside just after he entered, and Henry knew that this wouldn’t be the place he could get his mind straight. If it had been, he thought later, or if he’d just accepted the realization and left without looking at anything else, or if he’d taken some to think before walking into a place fraught with so much of their story – then maybe, maybe, he wouldn’t have done what he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing a small break from the smut while we deal with some angst and power dynamics, but it will be back soon!


	10. Chapter 10

Abigail couldn’t help tensing up every time the bell rang on the café door. And even though it was never Henry – oddly enough, he seemed to be honoring her request for space – the relief she felt never lasted, as what it usually was was townsfolk trying to figure out what exactly she had been doing with Henry Gowen. Why on earth had she used Florence as an alibi, she berated herself again. Of all people.

Of course she knew that was the least of the problems with what had happened. And she couldn’t feel too badly when it was the reason Jack had ended up intercepting them. But it felt like the simplest thing to think about. Chastising herself for falling into Henry Gowen’s orbit was… complicated. The memories of exactly how that magnetic field affected her could not be revisited often. Or ever. Except maybe sometimes.

“Hmph!”

Elizabeth watched as Abigail let out a random exasperated sound. She had been doing that a lot lately, Elizabeth noticed – taking some invisible frustration out on an onion or a freshly laundered skirt. Clara had needed to return home and still wouldn’t commit to coming back for the trial, but that had made Abigail more sad than upset. Business had suffered a little from the rumors, maybe that was it. Elizabeth had even overheard an indecorous joke or two when she’d stayed working too late at the saloon, about how the café might be closed at any moment if Abigail needed a little midday--- Elizabeth blushed, not even wanting to finish the sentence in her head.

And to be honest, she wasn’t completely sure whether Abigail’s outbursts _weren’t_ actually about Henry. Elizabeth felt so indebted to Abigail, and so protective of her in the face of others’ judgments, that she didn’t want to offend her by asking about what happened, outside of making sure she was okay. She had to admit, though, that the possibility was making her reevaluate a lot of Abigail’s behavior over the last couple of months. And then there was Julie, who had lamented before she left that she would not get to see “the drama of their forbidden passion” play out. Julie had based this assessment entirely on the brief touch of hands they had walked in on several days ago, letting her overactive, romance-obsessed imagination run wild, but Elizabeth couldn’t shake the idea that there might be something to it.

***

It was towards the end of the dinner hours when he walked in, a striking figure full of sharp lines and sharp looks. Abigail brought the menu over, barely restraining her curiosity.

“Good evening, welcome to Abigail’s Café. Can I get you a coffee or tea while you look over the menu?”

“Tea, thank you. And are you Abigail Stanton?”

“That’s me,” she smiled politely, though the past week had made her a bit wary of how a stranger might have heard of her.

The gentleman nodded at her. “My name is Bill Avery,” he offered. “I’m a forensic investigator, looking into the Pacific Northwest Mining case.”

“Oh, I see!” Abigail said, relieved.

“Jack Thornton told me you’ve been quite helpful,” he said, his eyes taking her in. “Though he left out that you are also quite lovely.”

Abigail’s own eyes widened and she offered a real smile this time, amused by his forwardness. “Well, that’s…. very kind of you to say, Mr. Avery. And I’m glad to hear that there’s been some progress in the case.”

“Not too much beyond the inspection report at this point, which the company is claiming is a fabrication. But I’ve only just arrived and believe me, I will not rest until I find what I need.”

He was cocky, wasn’t he? Abigail smirked again and told him she’d grab his tea. She nearly burned herself when the thought intruded against her will that cocky looked almost as good on Bill Avery as it did on Henry Gowen.

***

After Bill and the other customers had left, Abigail finally leaned against the counter to take a breath. It was disconcerting, the way Bill had flirted with her. She wasn’t accustomed to all this attention. He was handsome, she wouldn’t deny that, but she still wasn’t ready to pursue anything romantic. The mine investigation was just ramping up, as was her business, and the hurt from her discoveries about Peter and Noah was still raw. And as if all of that weren’t enough, there were also these moments, these quiet pockets at the end of the day, where she felt a sudden sting of disappointment that Henry had not come. But that was what she had wanted, she told herself. Their relationship was too chaotic, too volatile, too ---

The ringing startled her out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see Henry standing there as if her brain had manifested him. She really needed to start locking the doors up first thing.

She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gowen, but we’re closed,” she said, with the same coolness as when he’d confronted her for the safety file. It was amazing to think that was only last week. It felt as though months had passed and all that had happened in between was some sort of fever dream.

Henry continued walking further into the café, nodding and looking around despite the admonition. “I’ve already eaten, I just came by to see about business. How… business was doing,” he said clumsily.

She softened in spite of herself. “Perhaps you were hoping to see me,” she echoed, raising an eyebrow as she called his bluff.

He looked like a shy young boy as he curled his mouth into a sheepish grin. “You always get right to it, Abigail. I’ve always admired that about you.”

It was almost infuriating how well this little show of his was working on her. “It’s okay for you to come in here, you know. This is a small town and it’s going to happen.”

“I appreciate that. You’d still have the best biscuits around even if it weren’t a small town, and I’d hate to miss them. Though I hope you’d tell me if you poisoned mine.”

Abigail sighed and moved from the counter, walking toward him. “I don’t hate you, Henry. I just need some time to grieve again and figure things out before I can even think about this going back to normal. Can you try to understand?”

“I’d like to,” he said, taking another step. “But I don’t know what you think normal is for us.”

“I’m not promising you anything besides friendship, Henry.” She spoke as firmly as she could while trying not to actually meet the brooding hazel eyes that were fixed on her.

But he moved closer still, the heat radiating off of him intoxicating her. The café around her started to fade as he dominated her view. “Well then, I’m glad I’ll be welcome here,” he said, the low husky voice making goosebumps form on her skin. “As your friend.”

She reached out to play idly with the bottom of his open suit jacket, finding a sort of intimate comfort in it. He was breathing softly as her hands worked their way up, her gaze involuntarily doing the same. Her fingers traced along his lapels as her eyes were drawn inevitably up to his. It was only another moment then before they had collided again, their blood instantly warmed by the now-familiar taste of each other.

He pressed her against him as they kissed as if he couldn’t bear an inch of space between them, though the intensity of her need for him wouldn’t have allowed for it anyway. Her head was spinning and she knew that was exactly why she wasn’t supposed to be letting him disorient her like this in the first place. The question of whether it was still just her “letting him” started to make its own way into her mind, dizzying her even further. She felt him move down to her neck, start to untie her apron.

“I think I like being your friend,” he whispered into her hair.

“I think I like the way you ask about business,” she teased back.

He moved back up, pressing playful kisses against her lips. “Well, as your business partner, I’ll be sure to do that more often.”

“I don’t think we’re business partners anymore, Henry,” Abigail said, pulling at his tie.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Abigail froze at this, pulling back from him. “Henry… did you not quit the company?”

“No, no, of course I did!” he rushed to reassure her. “But I still had some authority before I resigned, so…“ – he rubbed her arms, smiling as though he were unveiling a great surprise – “I sold myself the company’s interest in the café.”

After a stunned moment, Abigail started shaking her head. “No… no, you didn’t,” she said, backing out of his grasp.

His face fell, but she could see there was a twist in his expression too, like he’d known it might go this way. Her voice moved from disbelief to anger.

“I cannot believe this. I cannot believe you!”

“Abigail, I wanted to support you,” he said calmly.

“That’s a lie and you know it,” she said, her heart sinking from the betrayal. “You just wanted to find another way to control me. I can’t believe I fell for this again,” she muttered, disgusted with herself.

“If you want me to admit that I wanted to stay in your life, fine, I’ll admit that,” Henry cried, tossing out his hands. “But I was trying to protect you, not control you.”

“Oh yes, you’re always trying to protect me, aren’t you? I’ve heard that one before,” she spat.

His words became more emphatic, reminding her of when he had condescendingly explained the rental lease to her. “If the company went down after this trial, they were just going to sell it to some stranger anyway,” he said. “This way at least I can look out for you.”

“What do you think makes you better than a stranger right now, Henry? I told you I wanted to move on and get some distance from this and you _bought_ my _business_!”

“It didn’t seem just now like you wanted to move on,” he threw back at her.

The shameful fact of it made Abigail even more irate. “I can’t move on, Henry!” she yelled. “You keep making it so that I can’t get away from you! Now you’re going to be involved in my business decisions too? I have to hand you money every week? Do you even understand how that feels to me?”

Henry didn’t respond, just exhaled loudly, his eyes dark.

Abigail took a deep breath and steadied herself. “All I wanted was some time to figure things out. Well, you know what, Henry, I’ve figured them out. I may not be able to lose you as a business partner but as of now, you’ve certainly lost me as anything else.” She pierced him with a stare full of utter contempt. “Thank you, very much, for making the decision that much easier.”

Angry and humiliated, Henry tugged on his suit and stormed out without another word. Abigail let out an aggravated breath as the door slammed shut. Cocky was looking much better on Bill Avery right about now, she thought.

And when Bill stopped her two days later to ask her to dinner while Henry was clearly within earshot, Abigail made sure he heard her enthusiastically answer that she would love to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was pure setup. So excited for the next one!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have messed with the timeline a lot here, moving some events that happened after the trial to before it starts, so you again shouldn’t assume anything has happened exactly as in canon. Probably an extra day or two til the next update, but this is a good one to sit with :)

_"He’s not the gentleman you think he is.”_

He had tried to warn her, Henry told himself, but she wouldn’t listen.

Of all the people to be called in for the mine investigation, it just had to be Bill Avery. On the one hand, Henry had to acknowledge begrudgingly that Bill was relentless, and likely their best shot at poking holes in Pacific Northwest’s manufactured documents outside of his own testimony. On the other hand, Bill was an aggressively arrogant prick. And of course, he’d wasted no time horning in on Abigail Stanton. Henry was running out of fingers to count all the ways Bill Avery had oh-so-innocently interfered with his life, between him being on the case that landed Henry in Coal Valley in the first place and taking up with two women Henry had tried to pursue.

Henry was livid upon witnessing Bill’s invitation to Abigail, and ran after her to tell her a few things about Bill Avery. But she’d breezed right by him and he wasn’t about to be embarrassed by her rejections yet again, out in public no less. It seemed as though Abigail had had plenty of space for a romance in her life after all.

He knew people were whispering about her, and he knew what they’d think if they saw her out so quickly and openly with another new suitor. Another reason to take care of this Bill problem. But most importantly, he knew just what kind of man Bill Avery was and what kind of commitments he had made and broken. So really, it was nothing personal at all that made him write to Bill’s wife – he was simply trying to do right by both women.

***

“His _what_?”

“I’m his wife,” Nora repeated to a stunned Abigail. “For quite a while now.”

“Please let me assure you, Mrs. Avery, I had no idea he was still married!” Abigail cried, indignant on both of their behalfs.

“Well, now you know,” Nora said haughtily. “And I trust you and I will have no further misunderstandings, Mrs. Stanton.”

“Oh, trust me, you can be very sure of _that_ ,” Abigail answered gravely.

Nora exited the café and Abigail immediately kicked the nearest chair, grunting and shouting when she stupidly hurt her toe. Elizabeth came running downstairs at the sounds of the commotion.

“Abigail, what is it?!”

“Oh, just another thing that seemed like a good idea but turned out to be nothing but a miserable pain in the –“

“Abigail!”

“Toe,” Abigail finished sarcastically, glaring at Elizabeth. Collapsing in a chair, she sighed, feeling defeated. “I take that back,” she said wryly. “None of it ever seemed like a good idea. And I have _got_ to start locking these doors!”

Elizabeth made a “wow” face behind her friend, thinking she was starting to lose it. Tentatively, she approached Abigail and put a hand on her arm. “How about we sit outside for a few minutes? Get some air?”

Abigail didn’t want air, she wanted men to stop lying to her, but she guessed air was going to be a more realistic outcome tonight. Recognizing the kindness in the effort, Abigail stood and let Elizabeth guide her to the bench outside.

They sat for a few minutes, staring up into the night sky together in a comfortable silence that slowly loosened Abigail’s mood.

“Bill’s married,” she told Elizabeth, when she was finally able to say it calmly.

“Oh, Abigail…”

“He told me she was dead. But she looked pretty alive when she left the café a few minutes ago.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “That rat.”

Abigail smiled warmly, grateful for Elizabeth’s friendship. But a wave of guilt came over her soon after, knowing she was lying to Elizabeth just as the rest of them had lied to her. Oh, how she hated for Elizabeth to think less of her. It was one thing to admit to something like misjudging Bill Avery or having a terrible plan for keeping their houses, but it was quite another to reveal the sinful, degrading things she’d done with Henry to someone as pure and young as Elizabeth Thatcher. The schoolteacher would never be able to look her in the eye again. And as to the matter of any _feelings_ about Henry, there was simply nothing to say, because as far as Abigail was concerned, she had no feelings whatso—

“Who is that with Henry Gowen?” Elizabeth cut into her thoughts.

Abigail glanced across the way to where Elizabeth had motioned, and there indeed was Henry, invading her peace yet again. And this time he was walking arm in arm with her brand-new acquaintance Nora Avery, friendly as could be.

She shook her head. “That rat.”

***

Somewhere around midnight, she gave up trying to sleep. She’d managed to avoid Henry pretty well in the two weeks since their confrontation – something that wasn’t very easy in a town of barely twelve active kilometres. She had made arrangements to leave his 40% for the week with Mr. Yost, and she attended Cat’s church service while Henry continued with the preacher the company had hired, now that Spurlock had been transferred to Cape Fullerton’s jail. Henry himself seemed to be taking his meals in the saloon, or coming in when he knew Molly was working on Abigail’s day off. Abigail had seen him going in and out of Mayor Ramsey’s office over the past day or two as well, but he otherwise didn’t seem to have much business in town now. And while she wouldn’t have minded flaunting her budding relationship with Bill, she was still wary of reactions from Henry and other people, so she was also steering their dates toward walks out of town.

Not that she would have to worry about her dating life now, she thought, rolling her eyes as she lay awake. Bill was just another snake. A married snake. And claiming to be a widower! To her, of all people – a woman who actually had to grieve her husband! It was repugnant. She hadn’t gone to see him for an explanation and she had no plans to either. Let him explain it to his wife!

She was fuming thinking about it, and adding the image of Henry and Nora to the mix did nothing to change that. Henry must have been the one to find Nora, she surmised. It certainly didn’t seem as though he was simply escorting a female visitor around Coal Valley judging by their easy intimacy. And Bill had made a comment or two about knowing Henry from before he came to investigate.

Henry had probably assumed she’d be grateful for the revelation, that she’d come helplessly running back to him after tossing aside the big bad Bill Avery. Oh, thank you, Henry, she would say, how _lucky_ I am to have you _protecting_ me!

Abigail threw the blankets off of her in a huff. Unconcerned about Elizabeth, who slept like the dead, she quickly pulled a coat on over her nightgown, slipped into her shoes, and left the house. If Henry Gowen was going to keep upsetting her life, then she would upset him right back.

***

_BANG, BANG, BANG!_

Henry jumped in his chair, where he’d been slowly dozing off. The knocking continued, and Henry got up slowly, grabbing his gun off the side table.

_BANG, BANG, BANG!_

“Who’s there?” he called, but there was no response. He held the gun up in front of him, then reached out and pulled at the door, jumping back as it swung open.

“God DAMN it, Abigail! I almost shot you!” he shouted, putting the gun down.

She stormed in, cloaked and hooded. “Keep your voice down!” she said, reaching back to slam the door behind her.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

She pulled her hood down and he saw she was practically on fire with rage. “What the hell am I doing here? What is Nora Avery doing here, Henry?”

Henry was stubbornly silent at this, and Abigail narrowed her eyes.

“You’re not about to tell me you knew nothing about that, are you, Henry? Because you seemed pretty cozy earlier,” she accused.

“Don’t think you have much to say about that, seeing as we’re just business partners,” he said with a sneer.

“I couldn’t care less what sort of female companionship you want to find for yourself, Henry. Married women, widowed women, women who need money – you go ahead and exploit them all. Just stay away from me.”

Any guilt he felt at that quickly twisted into a defensiveness. “I didn’t realize I was the one who invited you here in the middle of the night. Must have been another thing I made you do.”

“Why don’t you just leave town already? Go find some other lives to destroy,” she answered scornfully.

“Well, as of tomorrow, I’ll be the mayor of this town, so that might be difficult.”

“Of _course_ you will! I’m not even going to ask how that happened, more lying and blackmailing –“

“I need work, Abigail! I need money. That’s why I invested in the café,” he shouted.

“Oh, really? I thought you did it to help me.” He didn’t respond, and she scoffed. “That’s what I thought. Maybe you should get your story straight.”

His jaw was tight and she could see him working his fists and it just made her more spiteful.

“You know, you told me when we camped out that night that you had learned to take what you want, but all I see here is games, Henry. Trying to impress me, trying to corner me into a business relationship, trying to get me to stop seeing Bill. A bunch of childish manipulations all to trick me into being with you. It’s pathetic,” she spat.

“You never had any real power,” she said coldly. “What a waste.”

In a second he had plowed into her, slamming her up against the door. He growled as he kissed her, licking the bit of blood that had formed when he’d attacked her mouth. She matched the aggression of his kisses, tasting him more forcefully each time they recaptured each other. He shoved her coat off her shoulders and there was a wolfish glint in his eyes when he realized she had worn her nightgown underneath. He ripped the fabric over her head, exposing her breasts, which she quickly pressed back up against him as she pulled him back down to her.

He shoved a hand down into her underwear, rubbing her clit between his fingers. She moaned into his mouth and he smiled. He shifted to the side, biting and sucking at her earlobe as he continued to play with her. She was grinding herself against his hand, her head thrown back, when he whispered harshly in her ear.

“You came here for me, because I’m the only one who can get you going like this. You think I need to take you, Abigail? You’re already mine.”

She groaned loudly, sliding further down the door as the truth of it subdued her. She couldn’t speak so she used her body to beg him for more.

Instead he moved his hands away and wrapped them underneath her, throwing her over his shoulder. She was too disoriented from the sensations coursing through her to argue, and she didn’t particularly care to. He pulled her shoes off with his free hand, letting them bounce onto the stairs as he carried her up into the bedroom, tossing her down onto her back on the bed.

Still saying nothing, he grabbed a tie from the top of his dresser and her eyes went wide. She was breathing hard but didn’t protest as he pulled both arms above her head and wrapped the tie around her wrists, knotting it hard at the front. He ran his hands down her arms and around the side of her breasts, tracing chills all the way down to her hips as he finally pulled off the last of her coverings.

She was writhing on the bed now, her naked body bared at his insistence, on display for him to enjoy. And she really wanted him to enjoy it. But it became clear that he was going to take his time with her. He stayed at the side of the bed, a formidable figure standing over her, holding her with a searing stare as he undressed himself. She took in the sight of him, more toned than he had any right to be, muscles flexing as he moved. He stroked himself deliberately over her, wanting her to watch him getting harder as she laid there helpless and eager.

She let out a sigh of relief when he finally climbed over her, straddling her legs which were restlessly trying to urge him forward while her hands could not. He bent to her neck, leisurely sucking and kissing at her throat, nipping at her jaw, then moving down to tease at her breast with his tongue, circling her nipple before taking it into his mouth. She arched her back off the bed, straining against the binding, wanting desperately to grab at his hair and hold him there to pleasure her indefinitely, or to reach down and push him inside of her as deeply and quickly as possible, or preferably both at once.

His hand reached down, one finger plunging into her opening to test her as though the result were not already very obvious. Her excitement coated him immediately, and she felt him react to it, twitching against her thigh.

He squeezed at her sides with his other hand as he worked his way down her body, trailing his mouth down her tingling skin until his breath tickled at the wisps of hair above her core. She was already shuddering in anticipation when he lifted her thighs over his arms and settled in between her legs. He flicked his tongue over the outside of her folds first, delighting in her strangled sounds and the way her bound hands were grasping at the air. Moving to the center of her desire, he pushed his tongue against her and licked upwards, relishing the taste of her, until he caught her clit and began to gently suck.

Her reaction was not at all gentle, and she thrust her hips up into him brazenly as he continued the deliciously tormenting thrashing of his tongue into and over every aching part of her. The pleasure seemed to shoot in a straight line up through her stomach to her throat as she threw her head back, crying out. He taunted her with excruciatingly light nibbles on the tender flesh and whatever coherent thoughts were still in her mind disappeared and became a blur of ecstasy. Her thighs shook and tightened around him, and he gripped her harder, pulling her in to devour her.

Her heels dug back and forth over the bed and she pulled her body taut, trying to climb to her impending release. He was grunting and humming, urging her forward with a steady, unrelenting focus. Her moans turned to whines, an involuntary impatience taking hold of her as she felt herself getting closer and closer, so close...

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, please-- don’t--“

Her gasping shattered into a series of screams as she drove herself against his mouth, squeezing out every last bit of her climax onto him as he buried himself in her.

He slid back up her flushed and shaking body and saw that her eyes were swollen with contentment.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he told her, and the gravel in his voice sent another shiver through her.

He put a hand on her chin, turning her face back up to kiss him. She caught the taste of her cum and arousal all over him and opened her mouth to him hungrily, deliberately savoring the mark she’d left on him. A deep groan rose from his chest, nothing satisfying him so much as her own sensuality and desire.

Rising to his knees, he grabbed at her again. He lifted her legs up over his thighs, using her ankles to roughly pull her forward around him. His thumb played with her folds and spread her open as he positioned himself at her entrance. The emptiness inside her sharpened and she bucked against him, the need for him consuming her. He dug his nails into the flesh of her hips and she cried out and then finally she was his again.

He was virile and possessive as he slammed himself into her pussy, which seemed never to have its fill of him. He matched his penetration with another assault on her clit, massaging the still sensitive nerves. She tried to hide her face against her arm, muffling her pleas for him to make her cum again, but he forced her head back and made her look at him while she begged. He continued thrusting into her until he felt her walls tightening around him again and she began to spasm and shout. He held off as long as he could while she finished before he pulled out of her, the force of his release wracking his body as he pumped his cock and unleashed himself onto her, coating her chest and stomach in spurts as he came.

He waited for his breath to slow, taking in the glistening streaks that stained her ivory skin with great satisfaction. When he lowered her legs back to the bed, she laid still and purring, completely spent up and soaked in the scent of him. He laid on his side next to her and reached up, unknotting the tie and slipping it off of her. Her eyes stayed closed as she trembled, an aftershock seizing her body. He leaned over her, taking each of her arms and easing them back down to her sides, stopping to place a kiss on the wrists where red lines had formed again.

Their legs were hanging off the bed and he knew they couldn’t stay like this. That he’d have to clean her up and make her warm and watch her go. That in the daylight she would remember who he had been and who he was and he would lose her again. But for now, for these few minutes, she was here and that was all.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A much greater delay than anticipated! I changed my mind about how to handle these final chapters about 35 times - about 15 of which involved a whole Lynch-like dream sequence that I loved but that didn’t fit the story in the slightest – so I thought it best to have more pre-written before posting. A little more cuteness in this one, but I foresee one more smut scene before we're done :)

_PROCLAMATION_

WHEREAS Mr. Silas Ramsey has informed the Town Council of his intention to resign as mayor of Coal Valley; and

WHEREAS Town Council bylaws state that the president of the town council will serve as interim mayor of Coal Valley until such time as the next election can be held;

THEREFORE, BE IT RESOLVED, that the Town Council does hereby proclaim that Mr. Henry Gowen shall serve as interim mayor of Coal Valley effective this day of November 11th, 1910.

***

“Have you seen this?!”

“Dottie said Silas only told her last night. She’s absolutely beside herself.”

“Did she say why?”

“He won’t even tell her! But I did see that Mr. Gowen making trips to his office.”

“Well, maybe he knew and was preparing to take over. He _is_ supposedly against the company now.”

“Doesn’t mean he isn’t still _for_ himself. There’s something about that man I just don’t trust.”

“What do you think of all of this, Abigail?”

Abigail had just walked up to the table to refresh Molly and Florence’s coffees, and gave a strained smile when she saw the ladies were asking about the mayoral notice.

“It’s quite an interesting time in our little town, isn’t it? A new mayor, a new church, and the trial starting on Monday,” she mused, sidestepping the answer she knew they really wanted. “Our lawyer should be arriving today, in fact.” She made a show of looking out the window for the stagecoach as she redirected the conversation and their attention.

But there was no stagecoach; there was only Henry, heading into the mayor’s office. Abigail ducked away toward the kitchen while the women’s heads were turned, lest they call her attention back to this original subject of inquiry. She’d become pretty adept at evading questions about Henry, but would need to work extra hard today between the announcement, her exhaustion, and the utter bewilderment she was still feeling after their encounter the night before.

Had she known that was going to happen when she went over there? Had she been looking for an excuse to go? She’d seen him earlier in the evening with Nora, and she’d already been closed for the day – she could have talked to him then. She could have waited until this morning, when business slowed down. But instead, she visited his home, in the middle of the night, where their interaction would be private, and when – and of all things, this was the one she really didn’t want to admit – she could make sure he wasn’t with Nora.

Their argument had broken apart a terrible pressure she’d been holding inside for months - an intense feeling of resentment and betrayal that kept churning and rearranging itself. She was angry about the mine, she was angry about the way he’d propositioned her, she was angry about the fact that she’d gone to him that day, and she was angry that she’d kept on making the choice to go to him, every time. She resented Noah and Peter, and she resented hearing the truth from Henry and not them, but then she hated resenting them, and her heart ached to have them back, and then she would realize that sometimes she didn’t miss Noah at all, and then she would hate Henry and herself all over again.

Telling him off had helped at first. She had reminded herself of all the terrible facets of their relationship, diminishing her own actions as things he’d only tricked or persuaded her to do. And then she allowed herself to indulge in him, almost as if it were an inevitable part of what needed to happen. Like she was just using him the way she deserved to, the only way he was good for. By the end of the night, enveloped in everything about him, she was struck by the fear that it all felt more like a beginning than an end. Then, by the morning, when she woke up alone in her own bed and caught herself wishing she hadn’t, the fear became a truth.

So now she had been betrayed again, but this time it was by her own heart. Because in spite of all of the very good reasons not to, she had not been able to stop herself from developing actual feelings for Henry Gowen.

***

Henry stared across the road toward the café, wishing he had a cigar or a whiskey, anything to focus and calm him. It was early enough that the saloon was still the schoolhouse for another few hours, so that wasn’t an option. And it probably wouldn’t do to start day-drinking in his office on his first day as mayor.

Surprisingly, he’d already had a few visitors. He wasn’t sure if the townsfolk actually trusted him now or not, but they were at least willing to pretend they did to get their requests in. Suffering through the façade of friendliness in those meetings was still better than these moments, where he paced around nervously, knowing he should be reviewing some ordinance or application but instead preoccupied with determining what the appropriate waiting period was for when he could approach Abigail again.

He didn’t want to make the same mistake he’d made before. He knew that she’d never really gotten the space she asked for after the revelations about Noah and Peter, and she probably still needed it. He also didn’t want her to keep thinking that his becoming mayor was more about her than the job, and for that he’d need to not run off at the first opportunity. And, frankly, there was also a little bit of a boyish apprehension holding him back – a worry that he had said or done something wrong, or that he was misreading the situation to be more than it was.

Her hair had fanned out haphazardly across the bed as she’d collapsed last night – too comfortable to move, comfortable enough not to. He’d admired her for another minute, then gone downstairs and debated whether he should heat some water to clean her up, or whether that would presume she wanted to stay longer than she did. He grew anxious about feeling like he was keeping her there, and ended up bringing her a rag with cold water. They both flinched as she wiped at her skin with the frigid towel, and he had kicked himself for now seeming instead like he was tossing her out in the middle of the night. But, he told himself, there was never a chance of her staying the night anyway… Was there?

It wasn’t like Henry to second-guess himself to the point of distraction like this, and he found it deeply disconcerting. He’d always known that he had an attraction to Abigail, but it had been a one-sided daydream for years – a bit of fantastical diversion. Once their sexual encounters had actually begun, they had been mainly transactional, whether for business or retribution or an exchange of comfort. Even when he’d proposed marriage, he’d known that if she accepted – which he could admit now had been very unlikely – it would only have been a calculated partnership for her, not something done out of love. But now things between them just _felt_ different. Something had changed.

He was in love with her. He loved her. And it was real, in the way that it is when you have seen parts of someone that no one else has seen and your whole life feels more important because it turned out those were actually the best parts of them and they gave them to you. What was even more incredible was that he felt now, from the way she had looked at him one more time before leaving, that there was actually a tangible glimmer of a possibility that it was real for her too.

Of all the things he’d tried to hold onto in his life, this was by far the most precious and the most fragile, and every corner of his insecure, guilt-ridden, wretched mind told him he was going to break it.

***

By the next afternoon, Abigail and Henry were sitting uncomfortably at adjacent tables in the café, eyeing each other but too nervous to speak directly. The other widows were there too, as well as Jack, Elizabeth, and Bill, and all of them were far more attentive to the woman standing near the cash register – their lawyer, _Miss_ Samantha Madison. Henry’s eyes had nearly bugged out of his head when the woman introduced herself yesterday, and Abigail would have given him a good hard glare except that her eyes hadn’t exactly stayed in her own head when Samantha was the person who came out of the stagecoach.

Miss Madison was explaining to them what to expect in two days, when the trial began on Monday morning. Clara was not coming to testify, so there would be an independent expert to explain the pieces of the safety inspection reports first, then Henry to give his insider testimony. Depending how that went, Abigail might be called after or the next day to discuss any knowledge from Noah and corroborate the conversation with Clara. Finally, they were unfortunately still unsure whether someone from the Bureau of Mines was coming to testify as to the legitimacy of the two conflicting reports, but if not, Bill Avery would offer his best forensic analysis. It was unlikely Pacific Northwest would have many witnesses for their defense, and would mostly produce documentation or try to poke holes in their stories.

“I believe I gathered all the documents each of you had for evidence yesterday. Is there anything else? Any luck on that response letter, Mr. Gowen?”

Henry shook his head in frustration. “I just can’t find the damn thing!” He stopped, embarrassed, then tipped his hat. “Ah, if you’ll pardon the language. I know how important it is, and I’m hoping it wasn’t part of what Mr. Spurlock destroyed. I’ll keep looking.”

Abigail glanced at him again with a measure of pity, imagining how he must be feeling not be able to produce something so critical. She could almost see the beating he was giving himself inside his own head while outwardly he tried to remain composed. She wanted to pull him to her, hold him against her chest like she had by the fire, and let him immerse himself in her until his worries faded…

“Mrs. Stanton?”

Startled, Abigail looked up. “Yes?”

“I was asking if we could talk about your testimony when we’re wrapped up?”

“Oh yes,” Abigail said, turning bright red, “of course.” She could feel everyone’s eyes on her now, including Henry’s, and she had to talk herself out of the sensation that her thoughts had somehow been plastered across the café wall.

After another minute or two, the group began to break up. Abigail tried to make her way over to Miss Madison, but Cat Montgomery apparently had a brief question to ask first. Unfortunately, that meant that Bill took the opportunity to intercept Abigail.

“Abigail… can we talk?”

Acting on impulse, she began to look around for Henry and saw that he had been looking over at her too, though he’d already moved toward the door. With a glance toward Bill, he shoved his hands in his pocket and gave her a quick smile and nod before hurrying out. She sighed heavily. Even though she was partially avoiding Henry, she would have rather he had stayed than Bill, who had come in three times yesterday to plead his case. The first two times, she served him silently and refused to let him corner her in the kitchen for a private conversation. The third time he came at closing, and she was able to shut the door in his face and remind him he had an actual case to work on. Why did she have such trouble remembering to lock those doors?

“Bill, I’ve heard what you have to say,” she said wearily. “You may have convinced yourself that you were honest by way of technicality, but I can’t see it that way. I’ve already had too many secrets kept from me this year. The only reason I even found out about your marriage was because your wife came here ---“

“Because Henry Gowen sent for her, you mean.”

She looked at him bewildered. “I’m sorry, Bill, do you think that argument is better?”

Bill pursed his lips. “I saw you looking at him. Is that what this is about?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve dealt with Gowen before, Abigail, and lots of others like him. You need to be careful. For all we know, he’s lying about even sending that letter.”

Abigail was getting furious now, but she knew Florence was peeking over so she kept her voice down. “I don’t think you have any right in this conversation to be trying to convince me that someone else is a liar. And you can blame Henry for bringing Nora here all you want, but the truth is it didn’t matter.”

“What do you mean?”

Not seeing any reason to mince words or keep her own secrets, she answered directly. “I don’t have any feelings for you, Bill. And I wasn’t going to. I’m sorry.”

“Mrs. Stanton?”

Abigail gave a nod of acknowledgment to Miss Madison as Bill’s face remained unable to decide between sulking and disbelieving the rejection. It was a terrible look on him, she now realized, and she couldn’t resist tossing out one last remark. “By the way, Bill, you’re wrong about one more thing. There aren’t any other men like Henry.”

***

The courtroom crackled with a nervous energy as the widows murmured to one another. Though Miss Madison had explained the basic pieces of what would happen and worked to reassure them, Coal Valley had rarely been the site of such important proceedings – as evidenced by the fact that the courthouse was also both the saloon and the schoolhouse. Thankfully, Abigail had given Elizabeth use of the café for lessons until the trial was over. There weren’t going to be many customers anyway, since the whole town seemed to be packed into the benches.

As the start time ticked closer and her mind grew even more restless, Abigail once again found herself seeking out Henry’s presence to ground her. Though they hadn’t seen each other since the meeting on Saturday, an unspoken tentativeness keeping each from the other, they had sorted out their stories with Miss Madison on Friday, telling the relevant parts honestly but sliding over the unnecessary details of how they spent their night. While they did have to admit that Henry had confided in Abigail out of a kinship and concern for her and her late husband, and the knowledge that she was in on the investigation, there was no particular reason to share that the revelations had come at the same time they did.

Her eyes finally found his as he walked through the door, and she could see that he was just as on edge as she was. It was, she realized, the most nervous she’d ever seen him, including when they were about to be shot. Suddenly she knew what he was feeling: the terrifying stranglehold of the Company’s influence over his life, just as she’d felt it once on hers.

She made room for him next to her on the bench as he approached, now close enough for her to see the gray and black stubble that indicated he had not shaved and the overtired eyes that indicated he had barely slept. There was a brief look of surprise when he realized the movement was an invitation for him, and she thought she even caught a blush underneath his hat when he sat down. Despite his appearance, this made her smirk a bit. He took a deep breath as he settled in next to her, trying to relax. She looked around, then leaned over and whispered to him.

“Are you okay?”

“I’ve had better days,” he rasped. “I imagine I’m gonna have worse.”

She smiled kindly at him, still angled in close. “I’m not going to let them ruin you, Henry. That’s my job.”

He let out a short, shocked laugh and she grinned back at him, thinking he’d never looked so handsome.

“All rise, Judge Anatole Northing presiding!”

They rushed to stand and Henry grabbed the hat off his head. If he hadn’t been blushing before, he was now.

***

The openings and expert testimony took up the morning part of the session. Though Abigail had taken the edge off Henry’s nerves in the morning (God, he wished he could have kissed her for that comment), they were getting closer to his testimony and he was not confident at all. Everything he was going to say was true, but he knew the company could play dirty. Furthermore, Mr. Reed was there for the trial, and he and Mr. Gentry, the company’s lawyer, kept looking over at him. It wasn’t overtly menacing – no, they were too smart for that – it was a power move, used to keep him conscious of himself. _Are you really sitting there, acting like you’re innocent?_ they seemed to ask silently. He was actually grateful when Miss Madison asked to review with him during the recess, because he wasn’t sure he could face Abigail one on one right now. Their tactics had gotten to him in spite of himself.

But as they settled back onto their benches, right before they came back to order and he was about to be called up, that damn angel of a woman squeezed his hand and he suddenly felt like the least deserving person of being the luckiest man in the world.


	13. Chapter 13

Miss Madison had walked Henry through his rather substantial testimony, which included background on other mining accidents the company had experienced, bad practices Henry had been asked to implement, and times they had told him to ignore concerns. He walked through the timeline of Noah’s inspection and when he had been informed, and then the investigation and his and Abigail’s meeting with Clara. He provided any documentation he had copies of, and explained reports the Mounties had provided, but was still unable to produce the response letter from the company about the explosion – a failing which made him furious, though he recounted its contents as best he could. Eventually it was time for the part he had been dreading: the cross-examination.

Mr. Gentry ambled over to the witness stand and Henry tried to maintain his composure.

“Mr. Gowen, where does the Coal Valley office file its safety inspection reports?” the lawyer began.

“There is a designated file in my office. Or rather, my former office.”

“And how many inspection reports are kept on file?”

“Pacific Northwest’s policy was to keep the past three years of reports.”

“Yet this document that you’ve provided, purporting to be a safety inspection report dated January of this year, was not filed in your office with the other regular inspection reports?” Mr. Gentry asked with a raised eyebrow.

Henry nodded. “As I’ve said, Mrs. Clara Stanton informed us that her husband and father-in-law personally held the report so that it would be safe.”

“Was there some concern that such a report would not be safe under your watch in your office, Mr. Gowen?”

Henry did not need to react, as Miss Madison stood immediately. “Objection, speculation,” she said.

“Sustained,” Judge Northing answered.

Mr. Gentry rephrased, “Why were you unaware of the inspection report until now, Mr. Gowen? At least, according to your testimony.”

Henry refused to take the bait of the question, and stuck to what he’d said. “It was not a regularly scheduled inspection and was conducted in my absence, and I’ve already stated the reasons why, and that Noah Stanton chose to send it directly to the company because we had had some disagreements. I was unaware of the faults in the inspection until a few weeks before the accident, as I testified, and wrote to the company as soon as I found out.”

“Yes, you’ve claimed here today that you wrote to the company about this alleged inspection report, and received a letter back ignoring the concerns.” Mr. Gentry clearly preferred this avenue of questioning, knowing it was a weak link.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Have you produced this letter?”

As calmly as he could, Henry repeated that he was not able to locate it.

“Seems a letter like that would be a very important document for you to hold on to, Mr. Gowen.”

“I received the letter the day of the explosion, there was a lot going on…”

“Wouldn’t that be all the more reason to be careful with documentation of what you believe caused the explosion?” Mr. Gentry asked with a faux innocence.

Henry did not give a response, but the lawyer wasn’t really looking for one.

“I’ll move on. Mr. Gowen, as you’ve stated in your testimony, you were aware of my client’s intentions to bring Noah Stanton’s role in the mine accident to light.”

“Objection, your honor, that’s a mischaracterization of the witness’ testimony,” Miss Madison interjected.

“Sustained,” the judge nodded.

“I’ll rephrase, your honor. Mr. Gowen, you were aware that an investigation of the mine accident might lead to Noah Stanton becoming a person of interest, is that correct?”

“Yes, technically speaking,” Henry answered with a bite in his voice.

“And you are a part-owner of the café owned by Mrs. Abigail Stanton, who is Noah Stanton’s widow, is that also correct?”

Henry’s tone was more humble as he became wary of where this was going. “Yes, that is correct.”

“So if Noah Stanton were implicated in the deaths of forty-six other husbands, sons, and brothers here in Coal Valley, that might affect your and Mrs. Stanton’s business?”

“Objection, your honor, this is more speculation.”

The judge was growing displeased now, which Henry supposed made this rage-inducing questioning somewhat worthwhile. “Sustained. Mr. Gentry, stick to the facts.”

“Certainly, your honor. The facts.” Mr. Gentry smiled as he turned back to Henry. “Mr. Gowen, as you’ve confirmed, you are an investor in Mrs. Stanton’s business. Mr. Reed has produced letters where you inform him of your decisions to allow the widows to work in the mine at Mrs. Stanton’s request, to then transfer the leases of the company-owned properties to them as a result of this short-term work, and to provide an extension of the company’s standard three-month stay on rental payments for the Coal Valley widows, including Mrs. Stanton. It is also documented that you allowed Mrs. Stanton to use this extension when she moved to a new company-owned residence, which she did after you approved the initial company-financed investment in her new café. Your former security officers have also provided depositions in which they state that they witnessed you making verbal advances toward Mrs. Stanton while dining with them in the café. And finally, per your own deposition and testimony, Mrs. Stanton was the only person with you on the trip where you allegedly discovered this mine inspection report. Do you agree, Mr. Gowen, that these items are all indeed, facts?”

Henry pursed his lips and did not respond, now knowing _exactly_ where this was going.

“Mr. Gowen?” Mr. Gentry prompted.

“Yes, those are facts,” he responded tersely. He should have known this would happen. He couldn’t find it in himself to completely regret taking that trip with Abigail, but it suddenly felt like a profoundly stupid decision.

“Is it fair to say, then, that you are fond of Mrs. Abigail Stanton?”

He did not want to hesitate again, so he bought time. “Most people are fond of Abigail. She is a very well-liked citizen of Coal Valley.”

“But we’re talking about you, Mr. Gowen. What is your _personal relationship,_ ” he asked, drawing out the words, “with Abigail Stanton?”

He knew very little had changed in the courtroom, but the silence suddenly felt suffocating. Abigail was looking at him, unable to say anything but utterly terrified. She had seen as quickly as he had that there was no good option. He couldn’t reveal their actual relationship out here in court. He couldn’t lie under oath about it either. And offering the whole truth of his personal feelings would almost certainly give them precisely the seeds of doubt they were trying to plant. Abigail was whispering to their lawyer, but Miss Madison was shaking her head. She was not confident in any objection she could offer and it would make the circumstances look even worse if he avoided the question.

“Mr. Gowen?”

His eyes met Abigail’s. They were out of time.

“It’s as you said,” Henry stated firmly, reluctantly turning to Mr. Gentry. “I am – personally – quite fond of Mrs. Stanton.”

It was the only thing he could have said. Rustling sounds and whispers reached him from the benches, but he kept his eyes glued firmly on Mr. Gentry, challenge flaring between them.

But the company’s goal was not to humiliate Henry through evidence of sexual deviance, and he could see that now. They had only been leading him to the next question.

“Well, there… that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Mr. Gentry smiled. “So then, isn’t it possible, Mr. Gowen, that in order to protect the reputation or curry the favor of a woman one is personally fond of, that one might try to deflect attention from their late husband’s negligence… perhaps even going so far as to forge a document?

“ _Objection, your honor!”_

“Your honor, I asked a hypothetical question!”

 _I’d like to hypothetically ram my fist into your face,_ Henry fumed, as the lawyers and judge began to argue amongst themselves. He looked over at Abigail, and he knew in an instant that the honest answer to that “hypothetical” was that, if that actually had been the situation, he _would_ have done those things, without any hesitation. He would do literally anything for her.

“Mr. Gentry, here’s what I’m going to tell you,” he cut through the noise. The others fell silent. “I did not forge any documents, nor did Mrs. Stanton ask me to forge any documents. The only thing I have to ‘deflect’ is the company’s attempt to scapegoat Noah Stanton for this tragedy, when he was a fine worker who tried to tell the company about the unsafe conditions. The reason I supported Abigail with her home and her café was because she deserved that support. All the widows did. The company did wrong by this town. You know it, and I know it. And I had the authority to rectify some small part of it, so I did!”

Excitement and agitation rose immediately in the courtroom, and Mr. Gentry‘s schooled his expression to hide a scowl. He knew when to quit though, and seemed to sense that any more creative questioning would not be well received by the judge.

“No further questions, your honor.”

“Yes, I think we’re done for the day,” Judge Northing said. He adjourned the court and the crowd to immediately broke into animated conversation.

Henry left the stand, shooting a glare over to Mr. Reed as he walked back to the table where Abigail and their attorney stood.

“That piece of slime, with his conniving questions,” Abigail whispered harshly. “I’d like to hypothetically put my fist into his face!”

Henry broke into a huge grin. _That’s my girl_ , he thought. Not only that, it seemed as though she didn’t hate him for how he’d handled being cornered on the stand. The opposite actually – almost as though she had been energized by his outburst.

“Abigail, can we…” he started.

“No, you cannot,” Miss Madison cut in – rather rudely, Henry thought. “I think it’s best that you two stay… _uninvolved_ for the remainder of the trial.”

He saw Abigail blush at that. The lawyer had clearly picked up on the fact that there was more to this than what he’d said on the stand, which he supposed was part of her job. He gave a tight smile. “Of course. I have plenty of town business to take care of…” he trailed off with a glance at Abigail.

“And we have nothing in particular to discuss,” she shrugged, her voice brighter than it ought to be.

Miss Madison gave them both another hard look. “Abigail… I’ll see you after closing tonight.”

***

Abigail moved randomly around the kitchen, pretending at preparing to reopen for dinner, until she heard the quiet knock at the back door. She smiled, relieved that she’d been right.

He took only the briefest look around before picking her up and kissing her, both of them giggling. Neither of them knew exactly why the mood had changed – maybe it was that the anger had all been spent, or that there was a certain relief in being forced to acknowledge that _something_ was happening, or that being scolded to keep their hands off each other made them feel like teenagers – but whatever it was, it felt good, and light, and easy.

“So your disguise is a different hat?” she chuckled, poking at the fedora before flipping it off of him. “I didn’t even know you owned a different hat.”

“Oh, she thinks she’s funny!” he said, a glint in his eye. He dove into her neck, pretending to bite at her while she yelped. Then she was over his shoulder again, being carried up the stairs.

They fell together onto the bed. His hands traced up and down her sides and she held his face, keeping his lips pressed against hers. He fought to remove his suit coat while trying to separate from her as little as possible, her hips already arching up toward him. He stopped undressing and brought a hand underneath her head to hold her to him, focusing on tasting her deeply while they moved and moaned against one another.

She was finally able to catch her breath when he moved to her neck, and she sighed happily as she held him. “I wanted this,” she said, her eyes still closed.

“What did you want?” he urged.

“I – “

“OH!!”

Abigail’s eyes flew open at the exclamation coming from the doorway and Henry quickly jumped off of her and scrambled to the edge of the bed.

Elizabeth’s hand covered her mouth and her cheeks were a full pink. Abigail saw her wide eyes slowly narrow as she took in the sight of Henry looking guilty and Abigail sitting up, disheveled.

“Was he… were you…?”

“No!” Abigail stopped her quickly. “No no, Elizabeth, this is…” she shook her head. “Nothing’s… wrong.”

Henry grabbed his coat off the floor and held it over his lap as he stood, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I think I’d better go. Please, uh, accept my apologies, Miss Thatcher,” he bowed slightly, not wanting to meet Elizabeth’s eyes. He turned and tipped his head again. “Abigail,” he offered, regret in his voice.

Elizabeth backed herself completely against the door as she let him past to leave, and Abigail might have rolled her eyes at the reaction if her capacity for emotion were not already taken up entirely by embarrassment.

“Abigail, I am… so… so sorry,” Elizabeth shook her head.

“Oh Elizabeth, this is _clearly_ not your fault,” Abigail said, rubbing at her face to clear away the haze she had been in moments ago. She sighed. “I suppose a conversation about this is actually long overdue.”

“Now that you mention it…” Elizabeth started, still blushing. She sat down on her bed with a worried look. “That’s actually why I’m here. I gave the students a late recess so I could come over and watch the trial for a bit, and I saw Henry’s testimony.”

Abigail nodded with understanding. “I think you did know about all of that. But…”

“But,” Elizabeth took up the thought, “I haven’t asked you much about it, out of respect for your privacy, and because I knew you had enough people wondering. But Abigail, I would really love it if you confided in me.”

Abigail’s face softened immediately. “Oh, Elizabeth. You don’t know how awful I’ve felt keeping this from you. But now that you’ve seen exactly what _this”_ – she waved her hands around – “is, maybe you can understand. I just didn’t want you think less of me.”

“Abigail, my goodness, no!” Elizabeth cried. “You are the most kind and incredible woman I have ever met. And while I admit I am a little shocked, I don’t think any less of you. I’m your friend, and I care about you, and I just want to know that you’re alright.”

Abigail hopped off the bed and wrapped Elizabeth in her arms. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

The two women embraced for a moment, until Abigail broke away and settled next to Elizabeth on her bed. With a deep sigh, she began.

“I _am_ okay, I want to say that first. At least, as much as I can be when everything is just so confusing. It started with the houses…”

Abigail gave Elizabeth the outline of her and Henry’s relationship, sparing her the exact details of their sexual encounters. She talked about how she had started off feeling like she had to give in to the “arrangement” to protect the widows, and then how she’d thought of it as the way to deal with him generally, and then how things had changed when he told her about Noah and opened up to her about his guilt and his regrets. She told her how she’d found herself drawn to him even when he was driving her crazy. And finally she described how, even though he had an odd and infuriating way of protecting her, she felt safe and taken care of with him, that he’d nearly died for her, and that there was a gentleness in him that no one else had seen.

“That sounds trite, I know,” she finished. “But even today in court, he was quietly shielding me just like he did with Spurlock.”

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked.

“’I am, personally, very fond of Mrs. Stanton,’” Abigail quoted. “It was a very sly response. It answered the question and turned the attention entirely to him, without revealing anything about the other direction of those feelings, or our actual relationship. He’s very good with things like that, which is another maddening thing about him,” she smiled.

Elizabeth’s mouth opened in surprise at seeing her friend acting like a giddy schoolgirl. “Abigail, you really do have feelings for Henry, don’t you?”

Abigail looked down at her lap, trying to figure out what to say. “I haven’t… defined what I feel for Henry yet. It’s still just so strange, and there is so much history. All I know is that, ever since the accident, nothing in my life has felt like it makes any sense. And now, whenever I’m with him... it feels like it makes sense.” She paused. “Which I realize is absurd, because the whole thing – “

“Makes _no_ sense!” the two women laughed together.

Elizabeth sighed and laid one of her hands on Abigail’s. “As your friend, I have to ask… do you trust him?”

There was another pause, another sigh. “I’ve asked myself that question a hundred times now. I know what I want to say…” she trailed off.

“People are talking,” Elizabeth offered hesitantly, “about how he can’t find that letter. They think he’s making the whole thing up to protect himself, or hiding the letter to protect the company.”

Abigail shook her head. “No. No, I don’t think so. I mean… he told me about it weeks ago.”

Abigail disappeared into thought, and Elizabeth didn’t want to press that subject further, but there was also… “And him becoming mayor. Mr. Ramsey stepped down so suddenly.”

“Yes,” Abigail pursed her lips. “I don’t know a lot about that.”

Sympathy shone from Elizabeth’s face. She patted Abigail’s hand. “You’re a tough woman, Abigail, and very smart yourself. And _I_ trust _you_ , so I’ll support you, whatever you decide.”

Abigail hugged her friend again tightly. “Thank you, Elizabeth,” she whispered.

After a moment, Abigail realized she ought to get up and actually get started on the dinner menu, but Elizabeth’s voice stopped her as she moved off the bed.

“Abigail?”

“Yes?”

Elizabeth stammered, chewing at her lip. “What… um… What does it…”

Abigail smiled and sat back down. She supposed she had a few minutes.

“The first time is a little different…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second half of this chapter just happened as I was writing, and I'm happy with how it fits here even though it was completely unplanned. I like seeing their lighter moments even though it started a little dark.
> 
> I also keep forgetting to mention that I added a paragraph to Chapter 1 to help it flow better - nothing substantial. I also may go back and revise some of the dialogue in Chapter 4; it's feeling a little cringy on the latest reread. Hope you are enjoying everything else so far!


	14. Chapter 14

Day two of the trial began, and Abigail and Henry sat separately as they had been instructed. It didn’t matter much, since Abigail was called up for her testimony soon after the proceedings began.

Like Henry, she spoke about them working together, finding Clara’s address, and what Clara had said about the report. She also testified about things Noah and Peter had said to her over the years – concerns they had mentioned that the company had not rectified or for which they had provided inadequate solutions. When it came time for the cross-examination, she felt more prepared and more defiant than she would have been the day before. Mr. Gentry smiled at her.

“Mrs. Stanton, what is your understanding of why Mr. Gowen came to you to help find this report?”

“Well, my husband was the one who ordered the report. And Mr. Gowen knew that I was interested in an investigation of the company.”

“Yes, he knew that after you stole a file from his office, is that correct?”

Her eyes flared. “Yes, I was candid about that in my earlier statement.”

“Indeed, Mrs. Stanton, other statements have been provided that describe you as upfront and honest. Would you make the same statement about your late husband?”

“Of course I would!” she answered without thinking.

“You’ve mentioned certain complaints your husband and son shared with you about their work, Mrs. Stanton. It’s documented that Noah Stanton had made complaints about the mining company where he was employed before Pacific Northwest as well. Did he also share those complaints with you at the time?”

“Yes, he did,” she nodded, more carefully.

“Did Mr. Stanton also share his alleged concern about the ventilation system with you at any point before January?” Mr. Gentry asked.

Her statement had never directly mentioned whether Noah had told her about the inspection, but Mr. Gentry had clearly pieced together that finding Clara and the report months later meant that Abigail had no inkling of the cause of the accident before then. She tried not to bite her lip, keeping her face as straight as possible.

“No, he did not.”

“Assuming this was a real concern, do you know of any reason why he would not tell you about it?”

“Objection, speculation,” Miss Madison cut in with a tone of boredom, having had to do this several times now.

But for the first time, Judge Northing overruled the objection. “Mrs. Stanton, you may answer if you know of a reason.”

She had no idea what to say. Noah had often withheld some of the more serious parts of his work – close calls and details of injuries – telling her that he did not want her to worry. She had assumed that to be why he hadn’t told her. Would the lawyer find more fault with this answer or with her not providing a reason at all? She took a deep breath.

“Many of the miners’ wives were spared the details of the dangers of the mines. Our husbands did not want us to worry about them every day – more than we already were, that is.”

“Mr. Stanton shared so many of his other concerns with you, though, as you’ve stated. Yet you were unaware of this one. Any reason that might be?”

Abigail offered a tight, contemptuous smile. “Perhaps it was the most dangerous.”

Mr. Gentry’s face responded in kind. “Let’s go back to this idea of candor, Mrs. Stanton. Even though he did not share this concern with you, you said that you would consider your late husband to be upfront and honest,” he slid over the words, casually hinting at both her and Noah’s inconsistencies. “Would you also make the same statement about Mr. Henry Gowen?”

Abigail blinked. She’d prepared for this somewhat but she was getting tired of having to rethink the question in all of her conversations. She also had to be more thoughtful in her answer.

“I have not had much close interaction with Mr. Gowen outside of these last couple of months,” she stated. “But I believe that Mr. Gowen has been truthful in all of his statements to me and in court about the mine explosion.”

“And when Mr. Gowen made these public advances to you while you were running your business – that was presumably him being ‘upfront’?” Mr. Gentry asked.

“Objection, speculation,” Miss Madison cut in. She seemed a little worried, but that might have been Abigail projecting her own discomfort.

“Sustained, counselor,” the Judge nodded, to their temporary relief.

Mr. Gentry shifted a bit. “Mrs. Stanton, why did you agree to work with a man who had recently made advances toward you that the officers described as ‘aggressive’ and ‘unwelcome’?”

Abigail swallowed, deliberately avoiding looking over at Henry. “Mr. Gowen’s behavior was… strategic. He wanted to show the officers that he was not helping me.”

“And did you know that at the time he was making the advances?”

“No, he explained it when he told me about the company wanting to scapegoat Noah for the explosion,” she answered, spinning her reluctance to answer into a reminder about the company’s culpability.

“And you say it was to show the officers that he was not helping you?’

“That’s correct.”

“But Mr. Gowen was helping you, was he not? He had helped you start your café and earn your lease contract by this point, correct?”

“Yes, but those were business decisions he made within the company, to help the citizens of Coal Valley as a company town.”

“And the last business decision he made, to buy the interest in your café from the company – was he upfront about that?”

Abigail knew that Gentry was moving around quickly to trip her up, and she was trying not to let it work too well, but she could not lie on the stand.

“He told me he bought it, yes.”

“Did he tell you before or after he’d made that transaction?”

“After,” she answered, hoping she was not gritting her teeth too noticeably.

Mr. Gentry clasped his hands behind his back, feigning concern. “So what you’ve told us, Mrs. Stanton, is that there were at least two instances where Mr. Gowen withheld information from you –“

“Now, wait –“

“And per both of your statements and testimonies, Mr. Gowen had spent several months acting like a loyal employee, just as there were weeks when he acted like an aggressive suitor, before revealing that neither of those things were true?”

“Your honor, objection!”

“I am citing the witness’ own testimony, your honor.”

Judge Northing cut off the objection, annoyed. “Overruled, Miss Madison.”

Abigail glanced at Henry, who was fuming in his seat.

“As I was saying, Mrs. Stanton, given both of those _facts_ ,” Mr. Gentry practically threw the word at Miss Madison over his shoulder, “as well as Mr. Gowen’s inability to produce this letter he claims to have received, is it not possible that he is again manipulating both you and this court?”

“ _Your honor!”_

_“Mr. Gentry!”_ Abigail shouted over her lawyer. “While it may be _possible_ , it is also _possible_ that he is not, and that your company knows good and well that their report is a forgery and that Henry Gowen and my husband gave them every warning to protect those miners, and _they_ ,” she pointed at Mr. Reed and his associates, “did nothing!”

Henry slammed a hand on the seat back in front of him, holding back a shout. She could see he was excited, flushed with both anger and pride. Mr. Gentry evidently could too.

“You and Mr. Gowen appear to be well-matched in your temperaments, Mrs. Stanton,” the lawyer smirked. “As for possibilities, we will leave that to his honor to decide,” he said with a bow to the judge. “No further questions, your honor.”

“Excellent. Court is now in recess,” judge Northing announced, banging the gavel.

Miss Madison stood and made tight fists with her hands as soon as Abigail came back toward the table. Taking a deep breath, the woman began. “Mrs. Stanton, I realize this is a pointless conversation to have now, but it would have been very beneficial if you and Mr. Gowen had simply let me make my objections instead of shouting at opposing counsel. _This_ is what I am trained to do.”

Abigail exhaled hard. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t stand that _man!_ ”

“I know! That’s the point!” Miss Madison tried to shout in a whisper. “They are innocent until proven guilty. They don’t have to prove they didn’t know. They only have to poke holes in our proof that they did. The more they can further the narrative with the judge that you or Mr. Gowen or both of you are acting from a place of emotion, the more doubt it creates.”

Abigail gave her a withering look. “My son is dead, Miss Madison. It’s impossible for me not to have an emotion about that.”

The lawyer’s exasperated expression loosened and she closed her eyes. “Of course. I understand. But I again have to ask you,” she glanced to her side, where she saw Henry approaching, “to try to keep things in check for just another day or two.”

***

The employee from the Bureau of Mines had never turned up – another hole in their case along with the letter and Clara’s absence – so Bill offered not only his experience in his last case against the company, but his forensic expertise regarding the current investigation and all the documents in evidence. Of course, Pacific Northwest was in a position to make a very good forgery of a real inspection, and their side had no way of proving the company had received the real one.

After a disappointing afternoon, and now completely blocked from seeing Abigail, Henry decided a saloon visit was in order. He hadn’t even really celebrated becoming mayor, he realized, what with everything going on. Not that he’d had anyone other than Abigail to celebrate it with, and it was a complicated question whether that was true either. He downed a second whiskey and started on a third, barely noticing the alcohol as he contemplated once again what life in Coal Valley was going to look like for him after this trial.

A scoff next to him interrupted his thoughts and he turned to see Bill Avery approaching, just as agitated by the way the trial was headed as Henry was. Still, he had a feeling Bill wasn’t coming over to commiserate.

“I think you and I are overdue for a little chat, Henry,” Bill said, glaring at him.

“Oh yes, I’ve been meaning to ask, how _is_ Nora liking Coal Valley?” Henry asked slyly, fueled by schadenfreude and bourbon.

“You’ve always been a vindictive little man, Henry,” Bill spat.

Henry’s eyes flashed and he stepped away from the bar to face the other man, puffing himself up with bravado.

“I’m not the one who lied to Abigail,” he said, cocking his eyebrow in a challenge.

Bill moved closer. “Didn’t you though? Isn’t that kind of what today was about?”

“I’ve told her everything since then, and I’ve been honest with her any time she asked. She didn’t have to wait for my wife to come back from the dead to finally get the truth from me.”

“You never could manage to sway Nora away from me, so now you’re trying your same petty little tricks on me and Abigail.”

Henry stared at him disdainfully. “I wouldn’t worry about it. You never had a chance with her anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Bill said, looking Henry up and down. “Because from what I hear, she’s not that picky.”

The sentence was barely out of Bill’s mouth before Henry’s fist went flying, connecting right underneath Bill’s eye. Bill recovered and swung back at him, but Henry crouched, charging into Bill’s torso and knocking him backward out into the tables. There was a growing commotion around them now, and Henry bounced off of Bill into a boxer stance, ready to take another swing.

“Gowen!”

Both men turned to see Jack running over from the doorway. Henry’s face fell. His fist now itched even more to punch something, disappointed at how he’d let Bill push him so far. Damn, he deserved it though.

“Want to tell me what’s going on here?” Jack asked with a cold glare.

“Mr. Avery here was being… ungentlemanly,” Henry sneered.

But Bill, arrogant as ever, preened like a peacock. “Jack, Mr. Gowen will need to be taken into custody.”

***

“Why am I the only one in here?” Henry grumbled as he walked into the jail cell.

“Because Mr. Avery never touched you.”

“So he gets off because he can’t throw a punch? Or is it because he’s one of yours? Either way, good system you’ve got here,” Henry remarked dryly.

Jack refused to respond, locking the cell with a cold click.

Henry huffed angrily, pacing around the small area.

“If I were you, I’d make myself comfortable,” Jack called from the desk. Henry looked over to the constable and Jack smirked, emphatically crossing his ankles out onto the desk as he leaned back in his chair.

***

She came in about an hour later, wearing the same hooded cloak she’d worn to his house. Henry sat up quickly, expecting an earful, but she was surprisingly subdued.

“Evening, Mrs. Stanton,” Jack greeted her.

“Hi Jack,” she smiled kindly. “Do you think I might speak with Henry alone?”

The Mountie hesitated, frowning. “I don’t know…”

“Just for a few minutes. I promise, no metal files in here,” she said, lifting the cloth off the basket of food she’d brought.

Jack sighed and looked over at Henry, who was watching with a hopeful expression. “Fine. I’ll be right outside the door though,” he pointed. He put his hat back on and stepped out, throwing a warning glance over his shoulder at Henry.

“Thank you, Jack,” Abigail called after him before turning to the jail cell again. She and Henry were silent for a moment, sadness washing over their faces. “I brought you dinner,” she said quietly, removing her hood. “Seemed like maybe you’d mostly had drinks at the saloon.”

She turned her back to him, perching the basket on the desk and taking a plate out to arrange the food she’d brought. He was impatient for her judgment now that she was here, and started spilling out apologies.

“Abigail, I know I screwed up. I hurt you, and I hurt the case, and it’s not the first time for either, and I’m sorry.”

There was no response at first as she continued her movements. When she finally turned to him and passed the plate through the opening in the bars, he took it and put it down on the bench behind him quickly, holding her eyes with a pleading look. She sighed.

“What happened?” she asked. It was sympathetic but disappointed at the same time.

Henry hesitated for a moment, studying her face, then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. He was provoking me and it worked. Why, what did you hear?”

“Bill said --- “

“ _Bill_ came and told you?” He squinted in disbelief. “That’s rich.”

“He _said_ ,” she continued pointedly, “that he asked you about Nora and you punched him, and that I ought to know who you really were.”

“And what did you say?” Henry asked carefully.

“I told him that at least I knew you weren’t married and that, sorry, the café was closed.” He grinned at that, always getting a kick out of her quick wit. “Don’t enjoy it too much, Henry, I’m still not completely happy with you,” Abigail warned.

“I know it. And I deserve it,” he said. He tossed things over in his mind as he looked at her. A pained feeling stung in his chest and reflected in his face. She tilted her head, waiting for what he wanted to say. He was afraid, vulnerable, but he wanted to be honest with her about how he was feeling. “Bill may be right about one thing, though,” he started tentatively.

‘What do you mean?”

“I have wanted you to see the better parts of me. And you’ve given me more understanding in that regard than I was ever worthy of, because you’re the person that you are. But I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that sometimes this is also who I am. I’m quick with my anger. I answer challenges, even when I shouldn’t. I’m spiteful, and I don’t always go about things the right way. I’d never hit you, Abigail, but… I don’t know if I can promise I’ll never hurt you again.”

“Henry --”

“Look at what just happened,” he cut her off, not ready for her undeserved reassurances while there was more to say. “Yesterday, it seemed like we were… like things were good. And then I let that jackass get to me and I just brought you more trouble, and I’ve derailed the trial again, all because I went and acted like myself. And goddammit, I’m trying, Abigail, but maybe…” he tried hard to get the words out, not wanting to offer them, but knowing he needed to. “Maybe you deserve –“

“Henry, stop,” she said, putting up a hand. Her voice softened. “Do you think you’re telling me anything I don’t already know? We may only have been…. Intimate… for two months but I’ve known you for years. My eyes are open here, Henry.”

He wanted to believe her, he wanted to hope, but….

“That doesn’t mean it’s all okay,” she continued. “I’m still not sure about this mayor business, for example.”

“Ramsey actually _was_ misusing funds,” he offered quickly. Abigail’s eyes widened, but she put that to the side as a conversation for another day.

“A lot has happened. And you _have_ hurt me, Henry.” He cast heavy eyes down to the floor. “But,” she said, “you are also the person who will punch a former Mountie when they make an obscene comment about me.”

His head shot back up at that, and she smiled. “I forgot to mention, about five people came in and told me what happened before Bill did. Sorry I had to finish up with customers before I could come over.”

The easy way she cared about and accepted him was almost more than he could take. He felt the entire weight of his love for her in that moment, and took her hand through the bars, pulling them both closer to the metal barrier. “Abigail… I need to –“

“ _Oh, HENRY!_ ”

***

They turned together toward the shrieking sound coming from the doorway, and Abigail was suddenly bumped to the side by Nora Avery, who had rushed over to the cell. Shocked, she ran her eyes up and down the blonde woman in appraisal before catching sight of the red serge that had accompanied her in. While Nora clutched at the bars, saying something dramatic Abigail didn’t follow about Bill and how Henry was always kind to her, Henry was shooting panicked sideways glances at Abigail. She found herself feeling embarrassed and disoriented by the interruption though, and moved away.

“Abigail?”

“It’s fine, Henry, I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” she called behind her, grabbing the basket as she left hurriedly.

Jack followed her out the door, catching her gently by the arm before she could move off the porch. “Abigail, I need to talk to you.”

“Good, because I need to talk to you!” she turned on the stunned Mountie. “Do you know what this is going to do to our case?! They’re already trying to make Henry out to be the bad guy here – “

“Abigail, he assaulted Bill Avery,” the constable responded, giving her a look that he hoped would serve as a warning. It went unheeded.

“Well, it’s not like Bill didn’t deserve it! And you could have arrested him for it later, it’s not like he’s going anywhere. This looks terrible!”

“Maybe he should have thought of that before throwing punches in the saloon,” Jack said through gritted teeth.

Abigail blew a breath through her nose and pursed her lips.

“I couldn’t ignore it, Abigail,” Jack continued. “Mr. Gentry, Mr. Reed, and Judge Northing all have rooms _at_ the saloon. If they didn’t see it, they were going to hear about it. You heard about it, didn’t you?” he waved a hand at her. “If I didn’t arrest him, they would just have another argument for him getting away with something.”

Her shoulders fell and she became regretful. “I know. I’m sorry, Jack, I know he was wrong and I know I’m being irrational and I should not have gotten angry with you. I guess I’m just – “ she stopped for a moment. What was she? Protective? Quick to anger? Jack waited. “I guess I’m just… concerned about the case.”

“That’s the thing, Abigail, I think you should be. I don’t trust him. I think he’s still hiding something. And that also makes me concerned for you,” Jack emphasized.

“I take it you’ve been talking to Elizabeth?” Abigail asked. Jack looked confused. “Never mind.”

He peered quickly into the jail where Nora was still talking with Henry before turning his attention back to her. “No one needs to tell me anything, Abigail. I was there when Spurlock found you, and I’ve been there watching the trial like everyone else. I may not know exactly what’s going on, but I can see that he wants to be part of your life. You’re a kind person, and you like to see the good in people, but you need to be careful.”

Her face spread into a wry smile. Even though Henry had said almost the same thing to her, somehow Jack’s presumptuousness and outsider advice only made her more stubborn. “Jack, I appreciate your concern, but there is such a thing as too careful sometimes. Henry and I are not you and Elizabeth.”

The constable gaped at her, not knowing how to respond, and she kept smiling at that. “You’d better get back in there and hurry her along if either of you wants any sleep,” she said.

As she walked away, she held the basket tight, careful not to let the keys she’d taken from Henry’s personal effects make any sound.


End file.
